Lak'shmi: Life, Undeath, and Death (18+)

[Misty]

A few members have requested the return of this tale. I'll post them all in one thread to try to keep the spam down, Enjoy!

[Misty]

Of Demons and Freedom


Silence again, but for the crackling of the fire. Lak’shmi, property of the noble drow Hartex Claddath, slowly opened her lilac eyes and listened for her dark master. Five long minutes with no other sound, she was truly alone. She pushed off the bed to prepare for the day. In the spacious bathing pond, her thoughts rolled back to the activities before she slept, the scented water and memories mingling, her dark grey skin flushing a deep purple.

She dried by the large fire, rubbing oils into her skin to keep it soft as her master wished. The musky scent pleased her, reminding her of the incense when she first came into his service. Again, her skin turned a dark berry stain with memories of that first encounter. She had performed well enough to continue drawing breath, but by no means her best effort. Better to leave some room for attuning herself to his desires rather than to make him expect her best work every cycle. She had spent her first nights sleeping on the hard rock floor after her service. Within two weeks he allowed her to sleep at the foot of his bed. Within a month, she regularly remained in bed with him.

She wiped her hands on a nearby towel, then replaced the stopper to the bottle of oil. Still no Hartex. With an hour before she had to leave for her cycle’s task, she pulled free her rapier to practice. Her footwork flawless, she concentrated on killing strikes. Unlike most owners of pleasure slaves, Hartex had desired more from Lak’shmi than simply bedroom service. He had given her a rapier and taught basic maneuvers, then insisted she practice in her free time. Ever obedient, she progressed rapidly in her training. By the time she earned the privilege to sleep beside him, he gifted her with a specially made weapon, light yet strong, his House symbol embedded into the hilt. Hartex demanded much of her, quickly she proved his faith in her well-founded. She served well, failures paling in the shadow of her successes. He needed someone killed, he sent her. He wished an item stolen, he sent her.

She had just finished brushing her luminescent white hair when Hartex angrily threw open the door and scowled in her direction. Panic flashed through her body as she followed protocol: she stood quickly, hands clasped in front of her while looking him directly in the eyes, awaiting orders. No affectionate gaze, no caress on her cheek this time. He growled at her, finding no flaw in her demeanor or readiness to serve, and spat in his tongue, “Aren’t you supposed to be working for the priests this day?”

“Yes,” she replied with a nod, her lilac eyes locked with her master’s angry red orbs. Another task for them, to report to her master. She and a few others answered to a hooded figure known only as the Strifelord. He sought artifacts from the vast underground network of caverns, though he never stated why. Her master wished she do the work and report what she learned. Thus far the Strifelord paid well, better yet, she was allowed to keep her earnings. It satisfied her limited curiosity.

“Then go meet them! If they are not there,” he waved dismissively, “do what you want.” He snarled before he went behind the curtain for his devotions to Lolth.

Lak’shmi hesitated only half a moment, but it felt longer. Much longer. His last four words echoed in her mind, a bell tolling her death. Cruel joke. Born a slave and raised to serve, she observed the lives of many allegedly free people, and knew her lot as an obedient slave was better than most. She did not worry about finding a place to sleep, food to eat, clothing to wear. Social status meant nothing. The slave’s life was not always one of whips and starvation. Those with a master who cared for his property lived well enough, and Hartex took very good care of his property. Even in his anger, he did not lay a hand on her. It may have been cruel to tell her to do what she wanted, but not in the usual calculated way of his. More careless and angry. He was angry, but not with her. As relief washed the panic away, she gathered her weapons and equipment and left for the seedy tavern, The Burning Troll.

While she walked the dirty streets, she pondered what put the normally calm drow in such a temper. In the half year since he bought her, he had not displayed such anger. When she had lost a shipment of his slaves, he was merely annoyed with her. When the priestess denied his request that she watch the freeing of the demon, Gortalax, he was irritated. When Lak’shmi accidentally freed a lesser demon, he was not this angry. What, then?

She arrived at the Burning Troll just as the others did. Her gaze settled on Armond first, an intriguing human wizard of some power. He sat in his chair, focused on a book whose pages turned too rapidly. Neither cruel nor kind, his indifference pleased Lak’shmi. Near him sat Anais, a human priestess of unknown faith who had always spoken kindly to Lak’shmi. She graced Lak’shmi with a wine-red smile, who bowed her head in answer. Triggy, a deep gnome of unknown focus, and Ivar, dour duergar by blood but slaver by trade, rounded out the group.

The so-called Strifelord Menes waited for them at a corner table. Their previous task to retrieve something or another for the cowled man remained abandoned and unfinished, but he minded not. He set the strange group on a different path. As was his wont, he did not give details, but simply ordered them to investigate something and report their findings, payment to follow. They left for the task, Ivar already grumbling about working with ‘the slave’. The others ignored him, Lak’shmi let her white hair fall forward to cover a secret smile. Hartex gave permission to kill Ivar - whenever she wished. Though impossible for the lithe woman to defeat the solid duergar in toe-to-toe combat, the permission pleased her.

Anais confidently led the short walk to the poorest of poor neighborhoods, a place that reinforced Lak’shmi’s desire to not gain freedom within the stinking port town. Blood, grime, and inky discharge coated the ground and decrepit buildings. Shuffling corpses walked among the living, ichor and tattered rags on all, so one could not know immediately alive from walking dead. Lak’shmi followed Armond, hiding more than following. As she crossed the threshold from the street into the dirty neighborhood, a wall of flame roared up, cutting off any thoughts of not completing the task. All focused their attention on the malevolent shadows and zombies surrounded a strange, glowing portal.

Shuffling corpses quickly dispatched, it soon became clear that neither the wizard nor the priestess could determine where the portal led. It did not matter, for none could retreat, either. Anais boldly stepped through, quickly followed by Triggy. Ivar shrugged and followed. Lak’shmi looked to Armond, the only person she remotely trusted with her safety. Without so much as a glance in her direction, he stepped through. She followed. A cool darkness enveloped her, all sensations of moving ceased, like the dead air center of a hurricane. Long minutes passed until light returned, a red-tinted light and too warm thickness in the air. Armond looked about, his indifferent demeanor changed to that of one of the filthy street urchins presented with candy. They stepped into another plane of existence, no longer anywhere near the dirty cavern port, curiosity replacing his fear. Lak’shmi trembled.

As the confused group looked for someone to speak to, a rich deep voice resonated, “Welcome to my home... the 783rd layer of the abyss. You will not need your weapons here.” Weapons and staves forcibly fell from their hands. He spoke again, “The Strifelord overestimates you. Still, maybe you are stronger than you seem. You shall be tested. If you pass, you live. If not... well, the demon’s life is not so bad.” Lak’shmi’s skin crawled as he laughed again. He turned first to Armond and simply said, “We start with you.” Armond hastily handed Lak’shmi his staff before he disappeared.

She clutched it to her breast, looking at the spot where he stood only a moment before. The hollow shuffling and clattering of gathered weapons sounded throughout the cavern. Lak’shmi turned her attention to the witch’s staff. It was smooth and cool to the touch, odd marks all over the glossy black shaft but for the very end, where a maniacally grinning face flamed. Comfort emanated from it as she held it close, drawing strength from it.

The others knelt in prayer, though no goddess was named. Lak’shmi half-heartedly listened, her thoughts turning to the gods. Her master expected her to follow Lolth. Part of her did not object to obeying, his goddess was as good as any other. Being half drow herself, it would not be too hard to accept. Yet, her soul was one of the few things that was truly, solely hers. Sitting in the Abyss made clear the afterlife was not to be taken lightly. Slaves were disposable lives with disposable souls, what god cared for them?

The sudden absence of Ivar’s deep grumbling announced his turn, leading Anais and Triggy into more fervent prayers for peace and guidance. Armond returned as suddenly as he left, melting to the floor, gasping for air and unable to complete a thought. She sat next to him, respectfully offering back his staff. He numbly took it and she shivered, all comfort fleeing as it left her fingers. He mumbled, but all she could clearly hear were “cats... big cats” before he forcibly took control of himself. His gaze chilled as he turned to face her, “He seemed to know my greatest fear.” She shivered and hugged her knees where she sat.

Time passed, still nothing happened. Fear became boredom became impatience. She grumbled, lifting herself to pace in a circle. Armond’s hollow voice reached her, “You will not be so impatient when it is your turn.” She stopped and turned to him, breathing a little too fast.

“I hate waiting, be it for tests, punishments, rew–“

“–ards!” Her heart raced as she finished her sentence in a cage, away from the others. Panic returned in greater force. Her blood roared in her ears, her skin burned, then froze, then burned again. She shook all over. In a cage, like an animal! She was no animal! Slithering sounds penetrated her panic, she looked up to see three of them gliding towards her cage. She gripped the bars behind her, her knuckles palest grey as her mind regressed to threats echoing over and over in her head, “If you don’t obey, you filthy half-breed whore, the flayers will have your tender mind for a SNACK!” A high-pitched keening slowly intruded into her consciousness. By the time the three terrors stopped at the cage, Lak’shmi realized the strange noise was her own scream. They spoke of her young brain being a perfect snack, she shrieked. “I ALREADY HAVE A MASTER!! I AM A GOOD SLAVE I OBEY IOBEYOBEYOBEYOBEY OBEEEEEEYYYYYYY!!!!!” They stopped advancing and slurped among themselves while she cried and screamed. The squelching noises reached a frantic pitch before, one by one, they burst into three messy pools of green jelly.

Silence returned after the terrors exploded, but it did nothing to calm her. Fear settled deep in her belly for she knew she was not saved. Something far scarier approached. The same rich voice that greeted their arrival thrilled her senses, “You are as beautiful as you master says.”

Lak’shmi searched the mists outside the cage and shrieked, “What do you want with me?” Every nerve in her body tingled in the most wonderful manner, recent memories of her master flitted through her mind, but the fear in her eyes did not abate. Her master was not present, and no one touched her. “Wha– what do you want of me?” she gasped, the fear in her voice betrayed by the pleasure coursing through her dark skin. Anger exploded in her mind, all but drowned in the bliss of the moment.

“I want two things from you, my Lak’shmi,” he crooned in her ear, her mind clearing as the pleasure ebbed. She turned lilac eyes in the direction of his voice, waiting. “First, when you find the artifact the Strifelord wants; give it to me, not him.” Simple enough, she thought, as she did not care for her employer. She nodded her acceptance.

“Who am I serving?” her voice quavered.

“Gortalax,” he answered, smiling as he stepped into view. His terrible beauty fogged her mind, dulling the shock of recognition. He looked like a stunningly handsome drow, but with delicious horns and an exquisite pair of wings grown from his shoulders. He locked his velvety black eyes with hers, mesmerizing as he smoothly walked through the bars of the cage to stand before her. He gave a cruel and sadistic smile as he thrust a single claw through her dress. Instantly her body betrayed her again as spectacularly intense waves of pleasure radiated from his claw. His lips brushed her ear as he purred, “Worship me, not Lolth. She cannot give you the power and pleasure I can.” Her watery eyes rolled back as she tried to reason through the immense distraction.

Somehow, the words came out through the choking and gasping, “But... my master... serves Lolth. He... will... be... upset.” He murmured in her ear again, her body desiring his continued touch as her mind recoiled from the assault, “Will he? You must choose, my Lak’shmi. Serve me, and you and your master can kill together for all eternity.” He thrust his claw a little deeper, a jolt of pain through the bliss hinting at what refusal would bring.

“Yes,” she whispered in the drow tongue. “Yes, I will worship you.” He withdrew his claw only a little, returning her body to total bliss for a moment before he pulled away and licked his claw. Lak’shmi fell back, gripping the bars of the cage behind her again, but for support this time. As her eyes focused on Gortalax again, the claw beckoned towards her. Pain and pleasure ached deep in her bones, freeing the tears from her eyes. Soulbound to serve Gortalax. The sensations stopped as he caressed her cheek in a mockery of her master’s affection and purred as a cat playing with his still-alive meal, “You belong to me, my Lak’shmi.” Eyes closed, she leaned into his caress, yearning for his abyssal warmth.

She fell forward on her knees, in the place where they first showed. Armond merely moved his eyes, noted she still lived, then returned to his thoughts. Ivar snorted his contempt. The cold stone chilled her and jarred her mind. She moaned as she sat up, clutching at the hole in her dress. The other two finished and returned, Anais’ stony demeanor unchanged from before, so unlike the wizard and herself. Without a sound, the demon returned them to where they found the portal, and the crew numbly walked back to the Burning Troll. Her muscles warmed to the movement, pushing her mind to accept what she had done. Menes reclined in his chair, awaiting the report. While Armond and Ivar searched for carefully worded answers, Lak’shmi’s anger found an opening.

“A portal to the 783rd layer of the abyss, but I suspect you knew that already!” she hissed. He demurred, but she did not hear his words for the blood roared in her ears again, her skin burned and the hand hiding her shame trembled. He placed five sacks of gold on the table, Lak’shmi snatched at one with her free hand and turned to leave. The Strifelord approved of her anger. A feral roar temporarily silenced those inside the tavern before she continued her death march home.

She slipped into the Silk, but even here she was watched. Koraz nodded to her as he washed a glass. She bobbed her head in his direction and slipped behind the door leading to the private rooms. The fire of anger slowly dissipated to the chill of fear. She slipped into the shower room and tried to scrub the taint away. An hour later, she dragged herself to her master’s room, her skin raw and just short of bleeding. A hot flash of relief passed through her as she saw the room empty. She put her dress over the edge of one of the couches facing the fire, the hole clearly visible, then crawled under the sheets of the bed. They smelled of happiness, of him, of hours where he was her lover, not her master. She closed her eyes, inhaling the memories as she fell asleep with a smile.

Silence again, but for the crackling of the fire. She woke alone, relief taking the place of disappointment this cycle. She rose and dressed in one of her other outfits, one that showed much of her too pale skin. She would have preferred to remain fully covered, but the only dress that covered her so also held the sign of her god’s touch. Her god... the words rang hollow in her head, she had a god to follow now, but it felt insubstantial. A low groan escaped. Her master wanted her to follow Lolth, not some demon prince. She sat before the fire, recalling the time that Hartex and the Yathrin freed Gortalax. The terrifying priestess of Lolth shed the blood of thirty children to free him, Hartex and Lak’shmi aided her. The only fear she felt in those caverns had nothing to do with the demon prince, but with Hartex. He was demonstrably affectionate towards Lak’shmi, where the priestess could see. If she felt that Lak’shmi distracted Hartex from his duties as a Lolthian male, she would order the slave sacrificed. Every whisper from him, every promise that he would not let the priestess hurt his Lak’shmi, every secret caress frightened her. The damned children? The demon? They meant nothing to her... only Hartex’s safety and happiness.

Hartex walked into the room and stopped short at seeing her white mane resting on the back of the sofa. She turned her head to face him, in her sorrow it looked like he was surprised and relieved to see her. “You are well, my pet?” he asked, the affection in his rich voice making her feel dirty.

Tears welled up, a thousand greetings and entreaties on her tongue, but all she blurted out was, “I know who the Strifelord is working for.” He looked at the dress, frowning at the hole then turned his stern face to Lak’shmi, his voice thick with concern.

“What happened, my pet?” Tears and confession burst from her breast, fear chilling her again as he scowled. She leaned into him for warmth, desperate for his touch and fearful of his anger. His eyes softened as he gazed upon her, holding her close. “What did he promise you in return for your devotion?”

She whispered in his shoulder, “Power to serve you, and pleasure. But that is not why I agreed!” He turned her face to his, caressing her cheek, confusion clearly visible.

“Why not, my pet? If you must serve him, why not get what you can out of it?” Huddled in his embrace, she replied, “I did it to stay with you, Hartex.” He stroked her hair, then held her close to him, sweet endearments on his lips. “Pleasure me, my pet. I have missed your touch,” he whispered in her ear. Relief and pleasure floated from her ear, covering her body. He was not angry. Not angry! She kissed his cheek, then covered his body with more small kisses as she knelt, happy to obey. She proceeded as her desire and expertise took over, but something was different. She ignored the strange warnings in her head until it was too late. Hartex gripped her head tight, his fearsome lust taking control in his rush to finish. Lak’shmi had no time to think on her master’s changed behavior as she responded to accommodate his sudden ferocious need.

It burned! It burned and radiated through her skin. The roaring fire behind her seemed cool as she screamed and fled to the shower room, tearing off her clothing. She cursed the once pleasant warm water, falling too slow from the ceiling as her unmarred skin continued to burn. Hartex followed slowly, a frown contorting his face.

“YOU BURNED ME!” she screamed at him, still rubbing her skin to make it stop. His cold voice chilled as his body changed while he spoke.

“You betrayed me.” Fear and despair cooled the fire as the figure of her angry master changed to that of the stunningly desirable Gortalax. His clawed hand hurt as he gripped her arm, his rich growl thrilling her traitorous body, “Not even in your dreams will I allow that.” He pulled her body into his, enveloping her with his wings as his lips brushed her ear, “I will show you true pleasure, My Lak’shmi.” Her body again betrayed her mind, eagerly responding to her god.

Time passed, but it meant nothing while her god revealed himself to his devotee. She lay on the bed, her mind in hiding while her body shuddered with wave after wave of the most intense pain-laced pleasure she ever knew. His name escaped her lips between shallow gasps for air, another sign of his conquest left for Hartex to witness. And witness it he did. Hartex returned to the room, desire lighting his eyes as he gazed upon his quivering slave. He approached slowly, the firelight glinting off the amulet of possession, leaning close to hear his name before waking her. Disgust replaced his desire when he heard not Hartex, but Gortalax. His harsh voice broke the enchantment.

“GET UP, SLAVE!” The pleasure stopped as her eyes opened. He yelled at her again. She lifted her head to see her angry master at the foot of the bed, and terror flooded her senses where pleasure was only seconds before. She screamed. He harshly commanded her to stop screaming, and for the first time in his service, she did not obey. He stepped towards her, and she shrieked.

“WHO ARE YOU?!?”

He froze for a moment, then slowly stepped towards her again, his demeanor changed from anger to frustration at his slave’s uncharacteristic behavior. Terror still gripped her mind, she shrieked her question to him over and over, crawling backwards with every step he took. She fell quiet while he recited his titles, and almost relaxed. He asked her why she kept asking, and she sputtered the encounter with Gortalax. He grew angry again when he saw the bed, she wailed in despair. Accusations and explanations flew. To an outsider, it sounded more like a lover’s quarrel than a master displeased with his slave. Weary and confused, Hartex sat on a couch, and beckoned her forward. “Stop your sniveling, Lak’shmi, and tell me what happened.”

A thread of hope coursed through her as she knelt by his knees, explaining the encounter with her god. He absentmindedly stroked her hair, displeased at the news, but not with her. She fell silent, awaiting his wrath. “He can order you to kill me, my Lak’shmi. Did you not think of that?” She leaned her head into his hand, whispering, “I would kill myself before harming you.”

“I know, my pet, I know. But still... this is a problem.” His voice dropped as he began muttering to himself, still stroking her hair. She heard only a little, he questioned if his deal was worth the price. Lak’shmi did not understand, and she did not care. For the moment, she was exactly where she liked to be: at her master’s hand.

He fell silent, his shoulders hunched under the weight of his decision. While she continued to kneel, he deftly removed the amulet from her neck. The amulet only he could remove, the one item marking her as his property and providing some measure of safety. Doom spread from the sensation of his touch leaving her to the rest of her body. A tear fell as she bowed her head, ready for the deathblow. He slowly walked to the other side of the room, placing the amulet in a safe corner on the table. He turned and spoke in the strangest soft voice she had ever heard, “You are free.” It was not the deathblow she expected. She looked up at him, another tear falling as she tried to comprehend. “It is part of my bargain with that demon. If I free you, you are free from him. You are free, my-” His head bowed as he corrected himself, turning his back to her. “You are free to go, Lak’shmi.” His voice cracked as he whispered, “You are also free to stay.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, comprehension settled into her bones. Her hand touched her throat, where the amulet used to be. Free, she tried to say the word, but no sound escaped her lips. She rose to her feet, lightheaded for only a moment. Free. She looked around the room, the colors of the furniture and fire a little more vivid through her moist eyes. She turned to Hartex, his shoulders hunched in defeat, and the strange feeling she would sometimes get in her chest bloomed again. Free to stay, he said. She silently walked to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head on a shoulder blade, whispering in his ear, “I would like to stay, Hartex, if you still desire me.” A strange pain marred the beauty of his voice, “How could I not desire you, my–“ he sighed, his shoulders hunched again. She turned to face him, locking her eyes with his, “I wish to remain by your side, Hartex. I still wish to be Your Lak’shmi.” A weak smile flitted behind his eyes as he asked, “Why? Why do you wish to stay?” A tender kiss was all the answer he received.




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[II] Journey


Lak’shmi slowly walked with hunched shoulders from the Spider’s Silk back to the Burning Troll, her feet knowing the way without the need to look where she was going. The commoners and street urchins knew by now to give the scantily-clad half-drow plenty of room, though this cycle they could have bumped into her without consequence.

Several cycles previous she came to a realization, and rashly acted upon it. Hartex’s nephew had come from Ched Nesad, and Hartex charged Lak’shmi with his training. He was insufferably pompous, but she was to somehow train him in swordwork, stealth, and anything else he desired to learn. Not only was he unwilling to learn from a half-drow servant, he refused to cooperate with his uncle’s directives when Hartex was not directly watching him. Lak’shmi had too much time alone with the recalcitrant noble, but no clear set of protocol for what was acceptable and what was not. She was forced to take him with her on the Strifelord’s errand, with disastrous consequences. They indeed found the orb, but the others of the group wanted to kill the nephew and herself. They escaped, but both Zabrak and Hartex were angry with her. After she had fallen asleep, Zabrak showed his anger with rope and needles. Hartex’s only answer was that his nephew was just being a Drow. She could do anything to him in return, except mutilation and death. She did retaliate, and finally found a way of dealing with the nephew... when Hartex refused to let her sleep in his bed. He directed her to sleep on the couch, banished like a disobedient pet.

She continued in that manner, sleeping on the couch, teaching and watching the noble nephew for many cycles, hoping Hartex would change his mind. Instead, he simply did not return. In an angry fit of frustration, she removed the House Servant’s cloak and put it in the chest for safe keeping. As property of the House, she did not wish to offend by keeping or destroying something that no longer was a part of her life. However, the glowing orb in the chest caught her attention. It crackled and hissed, her fingers twitched, yearning to touch it. In an fit of contrariness, she tucked it in a silk pouch and stowed it in her pack.

That happened a few cycles previous, and nothing occurred since. The noble nephew returned to Ched Nesad, Hartex remained unattainable, the Strifelord was nowhere to be seen, and even Gor’talix left her alone. Weary in spirit, she pushed open the door to the Burning Troll and shuffled past the wandering drunk to the barkeep. She took her coffee and turned towards the bookcases, hoping to find something interesting to read when she stopped short. In the corner table, by the bookcase, sat the Strifelord, idly reading as if he had been sitting there for cycles. Lak’shmi greeted him, then presumptuously sat down. Her eyes narrowed as she asked, “Why do you work for the demon? What has he promised you in return for his freedom?”

He looked at her for a moment before explaining that The Lord of Waterdeep destroyed his temple to Cyric before banishing him. Therefore, the Strifelord wanted to demon to destroy the city. He then offered to pay Lak’shmi for information. She nodded her acceptance to the agreement. She sipped her glass of cold coffee, then questioned the Strifelord’s trust in a demon’s word. She studied the Strifelord for signs of deceit, and saw none. Silently she commended his control. “Yes. If he does not destroy Waterdeep, then I will kill him. These artifacts you find for me, they can release him, or destroy him.”

“Oh?” her eyes widened with interest. “And how many artifacts must we find? That last one was rather difficult. Since we retrieved it, Gabriel and Armond fled Skullport.” Her eyes drifted at the memory of Gabriel. He was an accomplished fighter, but that is not what kept him in her memories. He was young, yet with pure white hair, and he spoke a devil’s language. For all his strangeness, he seemed to genuinely care about her. Once, after they had conversed at length, he made his exit by kissing her hand, then telling Hartex’s nephew to treat Lak’shmi with respect. Not that the noble drow would ever listen to a rivvel, but the gesture burned itself in her memory. Before he left for the surface, he left a sweet-smelling letter for Lak’shmi, imploring her to not give the orb to the demon. She did not know what to make of his kindness, so she did what came naturally - she pushed the issue from her mind, concentrating on the task at hand. She returned her attention to the Strifelord, keeping silent about Gabriel’s attentions.

“Three. Anais holds the Shadow Crystal.” A weary sigh escaped him. “I sorely wish your master did not put a bounty on her head just yet, for she fled to her temple in Selgaunt.”

Lak’shmi covered her surprise at the news with a question of her own. “So, when do we retrieve the third artifact?”

The Strifelord chuckled. “Even if we get the third artifact, we still need the gem Anais holds.” His eyes lit with and idea, and possibly mischief. “What did you think of your trip the surface?”

Lak’shmi’s eyes narrowed as she understood his intent. He would provide supplies and gold, and she would travel the perilous surface to Selgaunt to barter for the gem. He asked she not harm Anais if possible. She agreed to all, for she had business of her own with the demon. She thought about leaving a letter for Hartex, then decided against it. It would be a pleasant surprise to present him with both the shadow crystal and orb together. After the Strifelord supplied the necessary gold and potions for the trip, she traveled to Waterdeep. Like her previous visit, it was quiet and uneventful, but for buying a robe, helm, and a map to Selgaunt. Outside the city, the trees and grass still struck her as odd. She saw them on her first visit, and they were too strange then. Even getting accustomed to the sight, the smell bothered her. She sneezed, then looked about in alarm. Nothing to fear, the road north was empty. She concentrated on travelling as inobtrusively as possible.

A cycle or so on the road, she came upon the ugliest brutes of humanoids she had ever seen. They were taller and three times as wide as her, with large swords in their club-like fists. Lak’shmi quickly drank a protective potion then hid, trying to remember from her books how these creatures were named. Her skin took on the toughness and appearance of the trees, and as she slid through the shadows it came to her - these were orcs. Still she snuck past, silently giving thanks that they did not see her. She reached a town after the world had darkened. Night, she reminded herself. It is called night. The gates were closed and barred, with no sound of anyone willing to open then to travelers. Not that she wished to show her face in town, but she needed to hire a guide, and possibly bodyguard. Shrugging her pack on her shoulder, she continued on her way. A short distance out of town she came upon a human female holding a monstrous bow. She greeted Lak’shmi in a friendly manner, and suspicion quickly alarmed her senses. Was she being followed? Is this a set-up? Would she kill Lak’shmi as soon as the potion wore off? The other woman continued to talk to her, but Lak’shmi only heard a few words: lost, guide, orcs. She needed a guide, this woman could help. She looked down at her hands, and saw the potion was still in effect. The other woman did not know who she was talking to just yet. Lak’shmi put on her pitiful, lost little girl voice, asking for the woman’s help as a guide. The other woman agreed, as her path went in that direction anyway. Fingering a vial holding an invisibility potion, Lak’shmi took a deep breath.

“Best to get this out of the way now. I am half of a despised race, do you have a problem aiding one such as I?” The other woman asked if she was half orc, then she laughed, saying Lak’shmi looked like she was part tree. Lak’shmi’s eyes narrowed again. Was this rivvel mocking her? She uncorked the vial and held it close to her mouth, ready. “Nau. I am half drow. Will this be a problem?” The woman stopped laughing, but looked kindly upon her.

“I have no quarrel with the Drow. Come, I can travel with you to Northern Cormyr. Let us be off.” Lak’shmi smiled as she recorked the vial and tucked it away. She liked this woman, to the point and unconcerned with her heritage. But for a few foolish bandits and orcs, the road was clear and trouble free. This woman, Jena, turned out to be an accomplished huntress, and excellent guide.

Grass and trees gave way to snow, and still nothing of consequence hampered their progress. Soon they came to the gates of Arabel City, in front of which a sign was posted announcing that all magic users must register within the city. The women looked at the sign, then at each other, and silently agreed to go around the town walls rather than through it. Lak’shmi turned to the woman, her voice hollow inside the helm, “Might I convince you to guide me further, to Selgaunt?”

A kind smile broke across her face as she agreed, though cautioning that she had never traveled that far east. Lak’shmi bowed her head once, then gathered several protective potions and offered them to the woman. “Here. The first half of your payment. Gold to follow for our return trip. My map indicates Selgaunt is east.”

She nodded her thanks, looked to the many roads, then looked to the sky. “East is this way.” They travelled around the city, hugging the walls until a road opened towards the east. What they found at this road, however, were three persons, readying for battle. A mage preparing his companions, with enchantments of stony skin, quickness, and the ability to see through darkness and invisibility spells. Lak’shmi stopped, her blood instantly cold as they looked at her. Her companion nodded a greeting of sorts to the mage, and he responded in kind. The mage responded to a question Lak’shmi did not hear.

Her companion continued, undaunted, “Ummm.. I was told it was to the east.. Is that not right?” Instead of answering her, the mage peered over her shoulder to the fully covered Lak’shmi, numbing fear rooting her where she stood. He commanded over her companion’s shoulder for Lak’shmi to stop hiding. She cowered further, all the stories about instant death returning to her memory in that second. An inquisitive young woman with the appearance of an animated statue stepped close, trying to peer inder the hood and through the helm. Lak’shmi feared her voice would squeak with fright, but she had to get the girl to leave her be. In a meek, quiet voice she spoke, “Step back, please.” Her companion tried to get directions through the attentions the others gave to Lak’shmi, but they ignored her. The young woman asked why Lak’shmi hid. She answered in the smallest, most pitiful voice she could make that she was disfigured.

The dwarf called the girl off just as the mage cautioned the pair, “Watch the night...we are at war with the Drow.” The mage gestured to the plain they all stood upon. “A few hundred have been slain here...on this very spot.”

Lak’shmi’s companion bowed her head in understanding before continued her queries. “We will be careful. So the way to Selegaunt is...?” Lak’shmi made a mental note to pay her more for her singleminded bullheadedness and simultaneous secrecy. The mage finally answered flippantly, “Oh...east from here. Aye, into the hullack. Must run...have to strike in daylight.”

They exchanged quick goodbyes, and the other group ran to the south while Lak’shmi followed her companion east. After a few false starts, the found the right path. A few orcs thought the pair would make a tasty dinner, but soon fell to Jena’s swords. They continued along the path for a day and a night, meandering north and east, through forests, riverbanks, plains and more forest until her companion muttered to herself as she walked off the trail into the forest. Lak’shmi warily walked after her, crossbow at the ready. She stopped behind Jena, eyeing the dead body that drew her attention. Lak’shmi huffed impatiently as her companion bent down to pick up the bloated corpse. “The wolves should eat that, rather than come after us.”

Her companion spoke with an unusually steely note in her voice, “It is my duty to see it buried.” Lak’shmi turned back to the road, waiting for Jena. Almost immediately did the forest end and the gates of a large city loom in front of them. Jena lumbered forward to speak with the guards when the hair on the back of Lak’shmi’s neck prickled. She felt, no she knew she was being watched, likely from the forest they just left. She turned to see a pair of red eyes staring at her. Illithyrii. Silently she loaded her crossbow with a sleeping bolt, then stole back to the forest, leaving Jena with her corpse errand. Almost as silently, Jena returned, without the corpse weighing her down as she whispered a query. Lak’shmi whispered back, “I thought... no, I saw something.”

Jena nodded and moved forward to determine what it was. Lak’shmi followed after a moment, to see a wolf standing in front of Jena. Lak’shmi raised he crossbow and aimed, when Jena patted the creature on the head. She lowered her weapon, eyeing the wolf with mistrust as she exclaimed, “What are you DOING?!?” Jena did not answer, but spoke kindly to the wolf. A thousand curses over the idiocy of rivvels and their animals began, but was cut short when what appeared to be a giant wolf padded out to look at the pair of them with the red eyes Lak’shmi mistook for her sire’s kind. She stood rooted and trembling like the many trees surrounding her.

“I mean you no harm,” Jena spoke in a voice both firm and gentle.

The voice of a cultured male came from the giant wolf, dripping with sarcasm. “Well...that’s comforting to hear. I was oh so worried ” Lak’shmi would have laughed if she were not so frightened.

Jena stowed her weapons, continuing to converse with the creature, “A talking worg? Are you following us?” Lak’shmi followed Jena’s example and stowed her crossbow, albeit reluctantly.

Disdain thick in his voice, the giant wolf answered, “I am no worg.” He sniffed, then answered her questions, “Following? I was merely curious as to what the half breed would taste like.” He looked to Lak’shmi, licking he massive jaws. She thought she saw him wink at her, but in her frightened anger could not be certain. “I am curious as to your taste though...” His voice trailed off as he padded closer to her.

Lakshmi stepped back, shouting a denial to his request. He seemed to grin at her, teasing. Jena spoke again, her courage again impressing Lak’shmi. “I have been in her employ to bring her to one called Anais here.”

The giant creature answered, his face still following Lak’shmi. “I have seen that one...smells of Shadows. But then so many do... so few smell properly...of blood and the hunt.”

Lak’shmi turned wide-eyed as Jena asked, “And what do I smell of?” Only then did doubts about her companion enter Lak’shmi’s head. Why, oh why would ANYONE ask a giant wolf what he thinks of her smell? The wolf opened his jaws impossibly wide in answer. He then seemed to tire of playing with the pair of women, and casually informed them they were in the Beastlord’s woods, Malar. Lak’shmi did not care, she simply wanted to get inside the gates before the Wolf decided to sate his curiosity. Jena seemed to think this was a good time to announce she cared not to whom the woods belonged, so long as they had nothing to do with Cyric. Again, Lak’shmi senses numbed as she avoided reacting in any way. Jena had just reaffirmed Lak’shmi’s opinion on talking as little as possible. The Wolf’s tongue lolled out as he winked and responded, “I do hope you think well of the Black Sun's minions... as the wilds belong to Malar...that is Cyric's city beyond that wall.”

Quickly Lak’shmi interrupted, bowing to the Wolf in as respectful a manner as her frightened body would allow. He bowed in return, “Yes. Enjoy the city. Perhaps my appetite shall have built by the time you have passed this way again.” He faded into the mist as Lak’shmi stalked angrily out of the forest. Jena hoisted the body over her shoulders again, asking in a worrisome voice, “This is a city of the Strifelord?” Lak’shmi lifted her shoulders indifferently. The gate guards directed them to the House of Song, for Jena’s corpse errand. When that was finished, they cast about the town to find Anais’ temple.

They found it in rather short time, and unceremoniously walked in. A young woman with blong hair, pale skin and red-stained lips lounged on the steps to the center platform with two people flanking her to the rear: another young pale woman to her right, and a large powerful man with face covered in tattoos to her left. The center woman’s voice rang clear with a single demand, “Who enters this House?”Lak’shmi lowered her hood and removed her helm. She breathed deep, then stepped out from the deepest shadows, her luminous white mane falling forward as she greeted Anais. “My Lady.”

An amused smirk graced the Lady’s face as she calmly answered, “The slave girl.”

Lak’shmi pithed her voice to match Anais’ calm, “Slave no more, my Lady.”

“Your master has sent you to kill me?” The warrior stiffened, poised to strike Lak’shmi where she stood, and the young lady nervously licked her lips.

Lak’shmi continued in a flat voice, “Nau. My master has abandoned me.”

“Then why do you come and seek me out?” Anais coldly asked.

“I have come on behalf of...” her eyes darted to Jena, reclining against the wall and watching all with interest, “a mutual employer to bargain for the gem you hold.”

“Menes has sent you, then. What does he offer?” Anais voice still rang cold and dispassionate

“Two thousand gold, My Lady.” Lak’shmi bowed again.

“Better yet... what do you offer that I may believe you? Even with your half blood, if you tell half the lies as your ‘former’ master, you still would lie more than a Cyricist.” Anais noted Lak’shmi’s stiffened posture, then explained further. “A bounty exists on my head. How do I know you have not come to collect?”

Lak’shmi let the words glide past, “I do not know of this bounty.” She explained further at Anais’ questioning look. “I know of no bounty, only a way to destroy the demon, thereby thwarting both Menes and Hartex.”

Anais’ curiosity seemed to get the better of her, “How is it you escaped your master?”

“He released me, to save his hide. Then I saw little more of him. Who would put a bounty on you?”

“Your master... former master.”

Her eyes narrowed in frustrated contempt for Hartex, “He is a fool, then.”

Anais smiled at Lak’shmi’s sentiment. “How would my giving you my crystal thwart them? In my possession, are they not thwarted already?”

Lak'shmi’s voice rang clear and confident, “Menes spoke of three items needed. The demon is only partially free. We can kill him, or free him with these items. I prefer to kill him. Demons cannot be trusted to keep their promises.” Her face remained impassive, only her eyes lit with a secret smile that did not fade with Anais’ next words: “An irony... coming from a dark elf. Very well, I must discuss a few things.”

As she turned her back to Lak’shmi, Gabriel stepped out from behind a pillar into view to voice his objection to Lak’shmi’s errand. Her lilac eyes betrayed a small measure of happiness as she greeted him and spoke of the letter he left. In complete contrast to the warm friend she conversed with in Skullport, he stood unresponsive: too calm, too quiet, the pupils of his eyes a deep red this time. He glanced at Anais before coldly addressing Lak’shmi, “Who sent you to such a distance for this Crystal?”

The warmth she felt for him fled at the cold chill in his voice. She cooly replied, “Menes paid well. But I am not his servant, if that is your question.”

He let an amused little laugh before interrogating her further about Menes’ intentions with the demon. She explained that the demon’s current half-free state meant he could and would destroy parts of Skullport and torment whomever he chooses. Anais had quietly return from her council with her acolytes and demanded, “And whom does He torment?”

Gabriel’s amusement stopped short at Lak’shmi’s flat voiced reply, “Me.” Her eyes glazed over at memory of the last time he revealed himself to her. She quickly recovered when Gabriel spoke again, “I take it you delivered the orb, however.”

Lak’shmi answered in equally cold measure, “I hold it now.”

Anais beckoned Lak’shmi closer to ask, “Have you seen a pool of blood?” Lak’shmi pondered the question for a moment before replying in the negative. She excused herself again to confer with her acolytes. After several minutes she turned to face Lak’shmi’s patiently waiting stance, “I have decided. I can only hope the decision is correct.” She held out her hand, the large red gem in the center of her palm. Lak’shmi bowed before accepting it.

“I thank you, my Lady.” She bowed again, quickly and quietly stowing gem in a silk pouch held by her hip. Lak’shmi nodded once, then scowled at her helm before putting it on over her head. She arranged the hood of her cloak over the helm and bobbed her head to Jena in the shadows. Jena quietly readied herself before leaving the temple as fast as polite decorum would allow. As they left the front steps of the temple, Gabriel’s cold voice rang out, “Safe journey, Lak'shmi.” Her feet stopped for a brief moment, then continued without looking back. There seemed no fit response to the warm sentiment behind the chilling voice.

Several cycles later found Lak’shmi in the Burning Troll again, sipping her coffee while pondering her next move.

***************************************************************************

[III] Enslaved


Lakshmi returned to Skullport with the Shadow Crystal, her journey from Selgaunt less eventful than the trip out. However, Menes was unattainable, as was Harlan. She left a letter with Koraz at the Spider’s Silk with a simple message: Seriso, two of three. Harlan would know she meant the artifacts required to control the demon. Whether or not he received it depended entirely on Koraz. Cycles passed where she did little more than practice her swordwork and write out her thoughts, waiting to meet with either Menes or Harlan. Finally succumbing to impatience, she returned to the Silk to meet with Harlan.

Koraz greeted her with a cold stare, no more the obedient servant who called her Mistress. “Leave. You are no longer welcome here.”

Anger chased her confusion away. “Did you give Harlan my letter?” Koraz answered with a hissing stream of drow curses. Lak’shmi asked again, though she knew the answer. He demanded she leave, saying that someone will come to retrieve the Orb she stole. The seriousness of the situation finally revealed itself. The Orb. That she stole. She knew the penalty of stealing from him. She slaughtered a man’s entire household when he stole something of value from Hartex. Reluctantly she left and returned to the Troll, more frightened than she cared to admit.

In her room, she prepared for the consequences. She laced the floor inside her room with traps, drank one of the leftover potions of stony skin, and hid, a sleeping bolt loaded into her crossbow. Shortly afterwards, a little girl knocked on the door, announcing someone wished to see her. She yelled for the girl to begone, but instead, the idiot rivvel child walked in. She was immediately electrocuted, and Lak’shmi lost her strongest advantage. Soon afterwards, Ivar stomped into the room, closing the door behind him. He walked through the tangling traps, slowing down but not stopping. She fired a sleeping bolt at him, praying he would succumb to the poison, but it did not work. He withstood the poison and whispered a quick prayer to his god, paralysing Lak’shmi. He stopped to heal himself, then continued inexorably towards her, amused. When she was free from his god’s power, she drew her twin blades and fought him.

Short moments later, she lay broken by the door of the room. She had tried to run; but he knocked her unconscious as she fumbled with the handle. Her eyes fluttered open to see Ivar leering at her, her prized rapier sticking out of his pack, an end of a chain in his giant fist. Worse than death, she was tied at the neck.

“Kill me,” she sneered at him.

He only laughed. “Nay lass, I bring your pretty arse to Hartex.” He muttered healing prayers over her, then tugged on the chain to get her moving. She shuffled after him, noting that they headed to the Silk. Once inside, it was a different place that she used to enjoy. The patrons snickered as Ivar pulled the chain, making her trip and stumble. Koraz gloated, glad to see in her put in her place. He and Ivar finished their business, Lak’shmi’s pain deafening her ears. Ivar dragged her to the docks, and they sailed to Waterdeep.

In Waterdeep he dragged her about, looking for the boat to Bauldur’s Gate. Lak’shmi numbly followed. When she fell behind, he encouraged her to move faster with a painful tug. On a cart ride through the city, he placed a helm over her head. The moment a young elf stopped them with questions, Lak’shmi jerked her head forward, throwing off the helm and shaking her white mane free. She stood proud and sneered, praying the stories of instant death in the accursed surface city were true. Instead, the elf offered to buy her, but he lacked the funds. Ivar tightened the chain with a threat, but Lak’shmi only glared through her choking. The duergar eventually found the docks for ships headed to Bauldur’s Gate and, as fortune would continue to favor the foul creature, a ship departing for Westgate.

In the harbors of Westgate, Lak’shmi found her voice. She tried making a scene, to make passersby kill her for being an evil drow. She implored the duergar to let her go, citing that she was as good as dead on the surface. He only laughed in her face. In the end, resigned to her fate, she merely begged him to give Hartex the message he refused to receive from her. Ivar mocked her, but something in his demeanor suggested that he may actually pass on the message, forcing Lak’shmi to hide a grim smile. It ought to mean his death, for not stripping her of her belongings and taking the Shadow Gem to Hartex the first time. If he did not die, he would be sent back to find her again, and she would be ready.

Not knowing the strange city, Ivar paid a shifty-eyed Hin to lead them to Hartex’s contact, Samiir. After hours of being pulled through the street by the throat, they finally reached the Black Boot Inn. Ivar stomped to a seedy-looking man, drinking an ale and demanded to know where Samiir was. The sleazy man cooly turned his gaze to Lak’shmi first, then back to Ivar. This was Samiir, her new master. The two conducted their business in the middle of the tavern, finishing with Ivar handing Samiir his end of Lak’shmi’s chain. Ivar left, leaving Samiir leering at Lak’shmi as he led her to the private rooms.

Once inside, the customary inspection of goods began. First, he stripped her completely of clothing and possessions and examined her. She stood impassive as he nodded approvingly at her shapely hips, to the narrow waist, to her round breasts to leer into her face again. Her muscles were toned, she lacked scars, and the only injuries she suffered were the recent ones made by the chain. He bade her sit against the wall and asked her name. Unable to pronounce it in his thickly accented common, he chose to call her Lak, then began talking about his plans for her. Rather than put her to use as a noble pleasure slave, he spoke to her about fighting in the arena for him. Her dead eyed expression told him how she felt about the options available to him. He then handed her a dagger and bade her attempt to kill him. It was short and quick; he bested her in three moves. However, he saw some sort of potential, as he said he would train her himself. He lectured her on her lack of passion while walking her to the arena. Lak’shmi stopped and smiled when they came to the docks for Northern Cormyr. Samiir asked what she was smiling at.

“Northern Cormyr. Instant death, when I wish it.”

He huffed and commanded her to follow. Her eyes lingered on the sign a moment longer before she obeyed. He took her to the arena fighting area, and told her she would train here. Amidst the various monsters released, Lak’shmi noticed a spectator: none other than Anais of Selgaunt. Lak’shmi continued in her training, putting her rage and hate and shame into fighting as Anais watched. Samiir and Anais traded words, for she again expressed a desire to buy Lak’shmi, but the price was set too high for even her to pay. Afterwards, Samiir directed Lak’shmi to a plain eight foot circular cell within the arena, with water bucket, straw on the floor, and a grate for relieving herself.

Two cycles later, Samiir return to find Lak’shmi practicing her swordwork in her cell, cursing in Drow the entire time.

“How ees my leettle Lak?” he greeted her with a pleased smile, praising her for finding her passion. She grinned through her panting, and sheathed her weapons. He had a job for her: the assassination of a merchant who cheated him. Lak’shmi’s smile grew wider. Finally! A task that suited her! He gave her a name and directions, then sent her on her way. It was a simple task, complicated only by seeing Gabriel in the streets. Ashamed, she hid from him, sneaking past to the best of her ability. She thought she heard him sniff, then say her name, but did not turn back to be sure. The merchant was just opening up his shop. After Lak’shmi verified that he was indeed Aldemar, she silently stabbed him the moment he turned his back. She looked at his inventory of weapons one last time, and allowed herself a pout. If she stole something then it could be traced to her, rendering the job pointless and causing more trouble for her master, and therefore herself. She wiped her weapon on his clothing, then strutted out through the streets of Westgate in a circuitous path back to the arena, feeling the best she had felt in several tendays. Perhaps a slave in Westgate would not be too hard a life... perhaps.


*********************************************************************

[IV] Gabriel


In her cell, Samiir woke her with a question. “So...is it done?”

She answered in the affirmative before opening her eyes. He bade her to follow him through the streets of the city to the Black Boot Tavern, answering his many questions on the assassination of Aldemar. At the tavern, they sat near a small group discussing prices for services. It looked like a young woman and her Hin companion were contracting a powerfully built man for his services. After a bit of listening, they were merely comparing prices. Moments later, an angry young man with an air of power entered, throwing a piece of paper down on the table in front of the ladies.

“Which of you is responsible for this?” he demanded of the pair.

They demurred and played innocent until they could no longer hide the fact that they were, indeed, the very same Lily and Red Fan who had posted a public offer of assassination for hire. The demanding man pulled a dagger, and much fast-talking ensued, finishing with odd laughter and introductions. The man of authority was Pratorr, the hin named Orla (aka Lily), and her friend Mara (aka Red Fan), and the gentleman they were talking to was Akuma. Pratorr invited another woman drinking rum, Nikie, to join the group, and bade Samiir to send Lak’shmi over. She sat demur in posture, but studying each in turn. After the introductions, Pratorr slipped directly to business. There was an assassination he wanted performed, and this ragtag group would indeed perform it or suffer. Lak’shmi asked why she was there, and not her master. Samiir owed Pratorr, Lak’shmi would pay the debt. The others at the table seemed instantly uncomfortable that she was a slave. She cared not.

Pratorr told them to assassinate the Ambassador Priest, Brother Steelmight, to prevent him from attending a meeting at the Abbey of the Blinding Truth at all costs. His boat will dock in the Westgate harbor, near the arena. He would be surrounded by bodyguards and archers, and carry much wealth with him. Should they succeed, the wealth is theirs. Should they fail, no matter. After several questions into the details of the mission, Pratorr left, satisfied, while the group discussed how they would succeed in killing all on the ship. Shortly afterwards, a young man showed, trying to buy an ale. He looked around the tavern, and nodded knowingly at Nikie, who promptly put on a false smile and returned the gesture.

“He must die, for he knows too much,” growled Nikie behind her teeth. There seemed to be confusion as to how they were going to carry it out, for a corporal of The City Watch stepped into the tavern, suspicion suddenly replacing his desire for an ale. He asked questions, both inside the tavern and out. Lak’shmi put on her seductive purr and distracted the man from the group surrounding the young mage. Still the ladies did not proceed with their plan by the time Lak’shmi returned from the tavern. Finally, Lak’shmi pulled her rapier, looking to the ladies, and asked, “Xas? Nau?” Out of the shadows someone whispered ‘xas’, and only then did the mage begin to cast his protections, but it was too late. Lak’shmi’s rapier pierced his concentration as easily as his back, the tip poking through the front of his robes. The others finished stealing his life, before the hin carved a lily shape into his back and shoved the body into the water. Lak’shmi returned to her master, who gently commanded she follow him back to her holding cell in the arena. She needed rest if she were to perform well in the arena. Lak’shmi immediately fell into a deep and dreamless sleep on the fresh straw in her cell.

The next morning she woke to Samiir observing her. After a polite greeting, he commanded she brandish her weapon, then attack him. Though not sure the reason for this, she nervously obeyed. She had already proven she was a poor fighter, even compared to him. After a short while, he commanded she stop and immediately set to lecturing her on her poor swordwork. She suppressed her anger and tried to learn from his words, but he said nothing she did not already know. He continued, and her face remained impassive, hoping to garner some amount of lesson from the exercise. Shortly afterwards, he commanded she study the docks where the priest’s ship would come in. She did so, noting the guards on the Northern Cormyr dock, and the width of the larger docks, where she planned to lay traps, if Samiir would provide.

He left for an errand, but returned in an hour. Business must have gone poorly for him that day, for when he returned he was in a scowling and contrary temper. He inundated her with questions, berating her for each answer she gave. Rather than call him out for being contrary and not at all helpful, she bit her tongue, longing for the peace of the cell. Eventually, he did finish and sent her away. She returned weary in spirit but not particularly tired, meditating against the wall.

An hour later metallic steps pulled her from her meditations, but she remained impassive, listening. They were heavy and armored, not her master’s. They stopped in front of her cage, and she could almost feel the gaze on her dark face. Her eyes remained closed while she spoke.

“I hear you. Have you come to mock me?” she quietly asked.

A familiar resonant voice answered, “Difficult not to when chased by a minotaur, Lady Lak'shmi. And no, I have not come to mock you.”

Her eyes flew open in surprise, shock and shame warring within her lethargic body. She covered her face. He seemed confused by her manner, and commanded she step forward. Though never her master, she willingly obeyed. He asked why she was in the cell, she hollowly recited her misadventure. His expression did not change, only his eyes: an unstable swirling battle of red and green. He asked permission to enter her cell, and she numbly granted it. He offered her a hand, and she clasped it, uncertain. He pulled her into an embrace, and she threw herself into his arms, sobbing. He continued to hold her, in a cold, mechanical embrace while crooning soft reassurances until she finished sobbing and simply huddled in his arms. He asked if she needed anything from outside, she meekly responded with a request for a blanket. He removed a gauntlet and wiped a tear from her cheek, his hand colder than the stones of her cell.

“You are cold, too,” she said, shivering.

“That,” he said in a distant voice, “is another story, dear Lak'shmi.”

“I am in the next Fight Night,” she murmured in his chest, still seeking some measure of warmth. “It would mean a lot to me if you were there. To see one kind face. Just one,” she sighed and shivered in his arms again. He whispered reassurances in an unknown language. She looked up into his eyes again, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Her questions suddenly seemed trivial when looking into his odd eyes.

“You're tired of it all... aren’t you?” he softly whispered. She simply nodded, and he sighed. “So am I, dear Lak’shmi.” He slowly sat down, leaning against the cell walls, and she curled up in his lap, leaning her head on his armored shoulder. She asked him what he tired of, and he replied with a dismissive shake of the head, “It does not matter much. Insignificant as I am anyhow.”

“You are not insignificant to me, Gabriel,” Lak’shmi replied softly. She shrank in his embrace as he quietly laughed. “You laugh at me.”

“Not at all, Lak'shmi. I am surprised, that is all,” his voice trailed off as he looked at her, his hard expression softening. “I tire of my life. The nightmares when I sleep, the dissatisfaction I gain from food, the world painted dead.”

Lak’shmi gently caressed his cold cheek. “I am listening, Gabriel. Is there nothing to color your world?”

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Her lilac eyes locked with his, the red and green still viciously swirling. Again he opened his mouth, then closed it. Then slowly he whispered, “Blood. It is... the only other color I see within the grey world around myself. I can taste it. I can smell it. I can see it flowing within people.

[Misty]

[V] Fight Night



Lakshmi woke to the dull roar of a crowd up in the arena. She continued to lie still, eyes closed, listening. Presently six varied pairs of feet walked past her cell. Just as she surmised that they might be the other combatants, a soft female voice spat an insult in Lakshmi’s direction. She lazily reacted with her usual response, then cleared her mind. Fight Night was a reality, and her only question was to wonder if she would be put into a deathmatch. Her memories returned to the time she fought Ivar, and miserably lost. Would not this town just love to see a drowling killed in an arena fight?

Samiir showed soon after the hall emptied, and crooned to Lakshmi. He instructed her to follow the arena fightmaster and silently observe the others in the holding area, for they were her opponents. Lakshmi bowed her head in agreement, grabbed her unenchanted rapier and obeyed. Behind the fightmaster, she saw first a large human, Dernian, and giant half-orc named Yakkut. These two seemed uninterested in her, but the others were not so indifferent. The dwarf, Arlox, immediately announced he would kill the drow and took steps towards her. The two elves, a blue by the name of Corwyn and a yellow by the name of Arun, glowered in hate, but said nothing, presumably because the dwarf would do what they wished to. Lakshmi hid behind the fightmaster while he stayed the dwarf’s axe. All fighting for this night would be done in the arena, not below. The dwarf and elves then set to haggling the arena rules regarding no magic items during the fights. Once the items to be used were agreed upon, the Fightmater announced the first round of matches. Arun vs Yakuut. Arlox vs Dernian. Corwyn vs Lakshmi. Corwyn looked gravely to Lakshmi, then quietly spoke to her.

“I would have words with you,” he began. She only canted her head in response, waiting for him to continue. “I know not why you are here, or what you hold in your black heart.” Arun took his pause to interject her considered opinion.

“Do not speak to it, Corwyn. It’s vileness might rub off.”

He dismissed her hatred to finish, “I will only say this: any treachery on your part, and you will not leave this city in one piece.” He finished with a very stern tone. Lakshmi only scoffed. He turned his back on her to return to the orc and other elf. They huddled together, sharing friendly sentiments and other niceties Lakshmi had no desire to hear. Then the yellow elf’s voice rang clear, reciting her dogma:

Death is but a part of life. Do not fear it, nor run from it.
Oppose undeath, and those who would bring untimely death to others.
Remember those who came before, for they are what made Fearun what it is today.
And to forget them is to forget where we are now and why.

Lakshmi’s stomach churned. Her only comfort came from Arlox and Dernian’s disgusted looks towards the elf. A few moments later, Samiir showed up, praising Lak while instructing her to fight well. All the other fighters fell silent after she bowed her head, replying with her customary, “Xas, Master.” The conversations resumed, all except Corwyn, who looked paler than he was a moment before. After Samiir left, Corwyn again approached her.

“You are that man’s slave?” he asked in disbelief.

“Are you always this dense?” she sneered. His face pinched and reddened.

“Perhaps I am. Would you care to explain to this imbecile, then?” she sneered a disinterested negative. He continued, “I do not wish to fight... someone who's been forced to fight.”

“I’d fight you anyway,” she scoffed. He walked away frowning and muttering to himself in his language. The announcer called the first match, and the combatants went forth, the yellow elf and her friend the giant halforc. Only minutes later did they return, the giant creature unharmed while Arun was carted away and her wounds tended. Lakshmi watched the next fight disinterestedly until her match with Corwyn was called. He was still muttering to himself.

“Still.” he hesitated. “If she comes here not of her own choice...”

Lakshmi turned and spoke sharply, “You were happy to kill me moments ago because I'm a DROW!” He tried to regain what little composure was left in him.

“And you would not have felt the same about me?” he challenged.

“You know nothing, darthiir,” she scoffed and strutted into the arena. He ignored the other combatants, who continually yelled at him to kill her. The loudest of them, his friend Arun who began chanting with the crowd, “Die! Die! Die!” to Lakshmi.

“So you keep saying. Wait!” He called at Lakshmi while he turned to pleadingly to Arun. “I don't know if I can fight her. She is a slave. She is a slave!”

“SHE’S DROW!” Arun shrieked back at him. He sighed heavily, then walked back into the arena to speak with Lakshmi, palms raised and empty.

“I would ask you one thing,” he whispered to her, “do you fight of your own choice, or no?” Lakshmi narrowed her eyes. What did he expect her to do? Cry? Plead for her life? Whimper and bemoan her lot? If he refused to fight based on her servitude, she would be punished. She sneered at him.

“Yes, I do. I like to kill, like all of my sire's kind,” She hissed at him. He accepted. They took their places, he with longsword and shield, and her with twin rapiers. Like her first fight, like every fight where her opponent was aware of her, it was short and painful. Not once did either rapier connect with his body, while his sword broke her in a few hits. She lay unconscious in the dirt for a few minutes, Corwyn’s sword poised over her neck, before an arena priest healed her up and sent her back to the holding area. She walked in front of Corwyn, the entire time his sword poised to strike her again. In the holding area, she turned and looked at the sword, then to Corwyn’s eyes.

“Do it,” she commanded in a low growl. He blinked as he looked her over, unarmed and commanding him to kill her. He shakily lowered his sword and turned away. She staggered to a wall and sat down against it, head buried in her hands. His friends congratulated him, Arun saying he should have gone for a deathmatch. He numbly looked at Lakshmi as she lifted her face to glare hatefully at Corwyn.

“Why did you not do it?” she asked quietly. “Why did you NOT kill me?” she demanded. He looked dully at her, eyes full of pity. “WHY?!?” She screamed, suddenly standing and shaking. “Are all your kind this weak?”

“Weak?” he asked in disbelief. First anger clouded his face, then sadness. “No. I thought I wanted to kill you.”

“WHY NOT?” she screamed.

“I,” he stammered, struggling to understand himself. “I thought I wanted. It was... a match of skill...that's... that's all. Rules. Just following rules...” She snarled her derision, and he softly replied, “Leave me be. I am weary.”

“Nau!” she angrily replied. “How can you be weary? I did not get one hit in!”

“This is not a battlefield.” he wearily replied. “I wish to be left alone.”

“Everywhere is a battlefield,” she challenged, then her voice dropped. He only shook his head in slow denial. “...and I wish to die on it.” His eyebrows furrowed together, examining her. She only glared hatefully in return. He lifted his face to look directly into her lilac eyes.

“Why,” he asked in a soft, slow voice, “why do you wish to die?” She continued to glare into his pale blue eyes, her hate rising.

“You do not know?” she asked in disbelief. “I cannot get free! I wish to die rather than continue like this; living in the cells, sleeping on straw.” She stopped abruptly when he turned away and huffed.

“Is this another one of your deceptions?” She only scowls in response. “I,” he stammered, “I cannot... I won't... believe you!” His face fell as his voice trailed off. “But that man...” Lakshmi huffed in defeat.

“Of course you won't. I deserve this, don't I?” Again she cast hate-filled eyes to him.

“No creature deserves to be subject to another against their will.” He wearily sat down again. She angrily leaned against a wall and slid down. He just stared at a blank space in front of him. The other fight had ended, the sound of the gate snapping him to the present. Hollowly he stated, “So. You are only half.”

“It’s enough up here, isn't it?” she sneered at him. He has no opportunity to reply, for the next match was called: Arun vs. Corwyn. As his friends tried to get him up to do the fight, he flatly refused. They continued imploring him to go in, until finally the announcer called Arlox to fight in his place. Corwyn and Lakshmi remained in the holding area, him worrying over the morality of the fights and her concerned with impending punishment. After the dwarf beat Arun, Corwyn rose to numbly observed the following match with Arun by his side, while Lakshmi remained below with her thoughts.

Someone called her name, but she did not answer. Again, her name was called. The arena announcer called her back for the next fight. The crowd was louder and wilder than before, but she took no notice of it. The yellow elf sought a deathmatch against Lakshmi, and being a slave to an arena official, she could not refuse. Corwyn had just been removed from the arena for causing a disturbance, but Lakshmi had no time to think on that. Deathmatch. This was her chance. Did she really wish to die?

Yes, but not to a diseased yellow elf who fancied herself a paragon of good. Lakshmi proudly strutted to the center of the arena, never more like her dark kin than at that moment. She looked for Gabriel in the audience, then bowed low to him before returning her attention to Arun. The elf was so small, so sure of herself. Lakshmi returned to where the other combatants watched, and spoke to the human. “Shield!” she commanded, and he immediately obeyed. She took the shield he handed over, and wordlessly returned to the center of the arena. Rapier in her right hand, shield strapped to her left arm, Lakshmi slowly paced back and forth in front of the elf, answering insult with insult. The fight took longer than normal to commence, due to the extra bets being placed. Lakshmi did not care. She continued to strut through the arena, her eyes focused on the vile elf in front of her.

“We should at least center ourselves for the fans.” Arun spoke in a sickly sweet voice.

“Piss off!” Lakshmi spat with all the loathing in her being. Arun merely chuckled. More taunts and insults followed until the announcer called for the two women to raise their weapons if they were ready. Lakshmi silently raised her rapier, while Arun raised her longsword high and launched into more nauseating rhetoric.

“In the name of my Lord Kelemvor! I shall end this evil here and now! Or die in its wake!”

The announcer finally yielded to the crowd’s lust for drowblood. While Arun continued taunting, Lakshmi plainly walked to her and attacked. Their hate-filled eyes locked as the death dance commenced. Thrust, block, attack, parry. Lakshmi’s body thrilled with malevolence, lending her an increased grace in the fight. Lakshmi’s second attack connected well, piercing a joint in Arun’s armor and plunging into her lung. Blood poured forth, teasing Lakshmi’s senses with hints of success. This distraction cost her, for the yellow elf’s sword sliced her shield shoulder. The pain shocked Lakshmi’s hate into focus again, and this time, her rapier slid cleanly through Arun’s neck. Corwyn’s anguished cry pierced the roar from the crowd. Lakshmi glanced at him before looking for Gabriel. She bowed to him again, he smiled and bowed to her. She returned to the elf’s body and pulled the sword free, then strutted to the officials. She bowed respectfully, holding the sword out in both hands, her own blood wetting her left hand. They made the official pronouncement, then dismissed her. She returned to the holding area, bowing her head again to Gabriel as she passed.

Corwyn immediately charged her, but Dernian and Arlox both stopped him. She scowled at him through the two guarding her.

“YOU!” he screamed. “YOU KILLED HER!”

“Xas,” she coldly replied. He continued to yell at her. When he stopped for air, she answered him. “I did not ask for a deathmatch.” He continued to yell, and she found the loathing rising again, “I had NO CHOICE!” He stopped shouting and descended to pounding his fists into the walls and chests used for storage. “I am a slave, remember?” He continued pounding and cursing, and she angrily responded with a stream of drow curses. As the announcer called the next fight, Lakshmi and Corwyn stopped shouting and tiredly sat down in opposite corners.

“You are victorious,” he spoke with grief-choked voice. “I,” he continued, “I almost wish... I had killed you...” Lakshmi replied in a voice devoid of feeling that he should have. He quietly answered, “It does not bring Arun back now. The moment has passed.” He stared blankly at the wall before speaking in a dead tone. “So, victory is yours. Now what? You are free? Or must you fight again?” She numbly recited the terms of her slavery, that she had to fight and win for six months before gaining her freedom. “These are your master’s terms? What kind of a man is he?” he asked in disbelief. A businessman was her reply. “Why do you not runaway? You have skill enough, I'm sure, to flee.” For just this moment, she seemed too weary to sneer at him.

“I cannot. I am as good as dead outside this city, or did you learn nothing of your friend's bloodlust?” Her hate rose again.

“Why? Because you are drow?” She impatiently answered in the affirmative. “I understand,” he continued, “this bloodlust. As you do, I am sure.” Her shoulders lifted indifferently. “I spared your life. Could you have not done the same? COULD YOU NOT? You! You are..”

“DROW!” she screamed. “I AM BLOODY DROW!” They rose and faced each other, screaming back and forth, but neither drawing weapon. The other match ended, and the announcer called the combatants to the arena for recognition. Corwyn and Lakshmi filed out to observe arena protocol, then returned. The others waited impatiently for their winnings, Dernian grumbling about coming in a place lower than the dwarf. Lakshmi glared balefully at everyone. Corwyn numbly gathered his friend’s belongings. After the others had left, he cast one forlorn look at Lakshmi before leaving. Her face remained impassive. The fightmaster sent her to wait for her master in her cell, and she quietly complied.

Half an hour later Samiir walked to her cell, feeling jolly and rather generous. He heaped praise upon her for winning the deathmatch, only mildly chastising her for losing to Corwyn. Her reward: one night of freedom in the city.

*******************************************************************

[VI] Service

A few days passed since her cherished free night in the city of Westgate. Lak’shmi sat in her cell meditating on the coming task with the priest when she heard soft footsteps approach, then stop at her cell. Without looking at the inquisitive visitor, she quietly asked if he was there to mock her. He remained still. She slowly opened her eyes to see Corwyn, the pale blue elf from fight night, staring at her.

“I wasn't sure,” he hesitated, “if you would be here.” He looked at the bars, then back to her, “So it's true. Locked up. Like an animal.”

“Xas, it’s true,” she tiredly replied. “Does it make you happy? Is this not worse than death?” He scrutinised her for a moment before a hollow laugh slipped out.

“I wouldn’t know. I would ask Arun, but she's not here.” Lak’shmi pulled Arun’s longsword out from under her blanket and held it over her lap, watching Corwyn’s eyes widen, then narrow. “That,” he started. “That blade...”

“Was hers,” she finished, her voice devoid of emotion. “Now mine, by her own foolishness.” She watched his face contort in anger.

“You keep it?” He gripped the bars until his pale blue hands turned white. “You... RELOSECOOR!” he raged. She watched emotionlessly. “You dare...take her blade!!?” She replied that she was ordered to take it, but he did not hear. “It's a blade of honor! How dare you touch it!” Anger slowly darkened her face further.

“I will speak slower,” she continued, voice gaining strength. “I. Was. COMMANDED. To TAKE IT!”

“I do not care who commanded you!” he finally responded to her words. “I demand that blade back now!” She carelessly tossed it on the corner of her blanket and closed her eyes to him.

“Because I am a slave,” she spoke quietly, “you think you have the right to make demands of me?” He continued to glare through the bars, mumbling. She continued in the tone of a teacher with a dim student, “Therefore, you do not command me. If you want it, learn how to ask.” As she opened her dead eyes, he suddenly looked confused, then a hollow smile broke through.

“I see,” he continued. “You would play with me still, though you are in this cage.” She clarified that she would not obey his orders. “Orders. I wish I could order you.”

“Buy me then.”

“I would order you to,” her words suddenly registered. “Buy you?”

“What would you order me to do? Perform favors for you? Run myself through with a sword? Have your babies?” He turned his back on her as she spoke, but as she finished her questions with a hateful sneer he turned back, his pale face white.

“What?! DOG! I would die first!” She asked again what he would order her to do. “I would order you,” he stammered. “I .. I would order you!”

“Yes, you would,” she agreed, her voice honeysweet now. “And I must obey.” She softened her eyes while rising and slowly writhed to meet him at the bars. She pitched her voice low, her willingness to obey in a throaty whisper, “Yes?”

He continued to stammer, watching her move closer to him. He answered her question in a choked whisper, “I would order you to bring her back.” He bowed his head low, not seeing the instant scowl on her face. “And you cannot.” His eyes lifted to meet hers again, and she slipped into her previous posture, thrusting a hip to one side and purring at him again.

“Indulge for a moment. What would you order of me?” Wide lilac eyes met his, as he disregarded the question.

“You've been a slave all your life, you say?” She answered in the affirmative. “You've known nothing of freedom, happiness, joy, love...” Weariness seeped back into her body.

“I've known all those things,” she answered in a dead voice. “And lost them.” He laughed in disbelief as she continued. “Happiness, joy, even love and I've had it all taken away.”

“You. A creature like you?”

“XAS! EVEN A CREATURE SUCH AS I!”

“Perhaps you deserved it. Perhaps you,” he hesitated, trying to convince himself, then looked away from her. After a lengthy pause, he continued. “It's strange,” he laughed quietly, “That I have returned here. That I am here. Speaking with you. YOU,” he returned to face her. She made a dismissive noise, but said nothing. “How many? How many innocent lives have you taken, I wonder...” his voice trailed off. She stalked back to the bars, her eyes narrowed.

“Who is innocent?” Again he spoke of the dead elf. “Then she should not have demanded mine. Put responsibility for her death where it belongs: with HER! She MADE a choice! She HAD a choice!”

“No. The responsibility belongs with me. I let you live; and I am torn. I have thought about the matter. I did what was right, by not killing you. Not even you, deserved such a death.” She scrutinised his face, and he suddenly looked so very tired. “Why do you stare at me?”

“I look for the change,” she quietly replied. “Where you decide I must die no matter the cost.” He demurred, saying it wasn’t his decision. “You are darthiir,” she continued dogmatically. “You will try to kill me.”

“If that were true,” his voice quiet with fatigue, “You'd be dead already. You are helpless behind the bars. I do not know entirely why I came back.. I do know now, I did not come to kill you.”

“That is comforting.” She dryly answered, her eyes lifting to the ceiling of her cage before settling back on him. He searched her face. She sneered in response. “Xas! Comforting, another word I know the meaning of!”

“I bring you,” he laughed hollowly. “Comfort...” he sighed, completely unaware that her Master now stood behind him, his twin scimitars drawn.

“NAU! Leave him alone!” Lak’shmi screamed, while Corwyn just looked at her in confusion.

“The hells?!!” her Master bellowed in his thickly accented common. “Prepare to deefend joorself! Joo haff only moments to esplain!”

Corwyn drew his blade in defense, trying to reason with the Master. Lak’shmi watched, only mildly interested in what happened outside her cell. Corwyn demurred, pretending to think there were games again. Master announced Corwyn trespassed on private property, and as an arena official, he had the authority to kill the elf where he stood. He commanded Corwyn to sheath his weapon, and after a brief look to Lak’shmi, he did. He invited Corwyn to step into Lak’shmi’s cell, again he looked to her, then agreed. Master unlocked the cell door, and locked it again afer they were inside. Lak’shmi returned to her blanket in the corner, Arun’s sword still visible. Her master noted the empty water bucket, and promised it would be refilled after the odd little meeting. She bowed her head and thanked him while Corwyn frowned at their exchange.

The Master spoke of the match between Corwyn and his “Leetle Lak,” again chiding her for turning her back on Corwyn. He praised Corwyn for his prowess in the arena, then quietly launched his proposal: Corwyn would fight in the Arena deathmatches and keep a portion of the profits. Lak’shmi touched the longsword again, watching Corwyn’s reaction. He scowled at her while listening to the Master speak. Lak’shmi then stood, holding the sword so it draped in front of her. How badly does he wish it back? she wondered. He sniffed in answer to the proposal.

“You would sponsor me. So that I can end up,” he tipped his head towards her, “like her... your pet.. your possession?”

“Eend up like hehr?” the Master smiled. “Do joo know how much money she made me een hehr fight vid thee paladin?” Corwyn narrowed his eyes as the Master continued. “And eef she survives long eenough... do joo know how moch money she vill make?”

“If you accept,” Lak’shim interjected, holding the hilt of the sword out to Corwyn, “it is yours now.” Corwyn continued to mumble about gold for a life when the Master finished presenting his offer: if Corwyn refused, he would be pitted against two dire tigers in the next match.

“I do believe you will be joining me, sir,” Lak’shmi presented the swordhilt and bowed to Corwyn in mock-ceremony. He looked at the desired sword, then looked at her in horror, and mumbled something about a lack of choices.

“Oh no!” the Master corrected. “Joo have a choice! Make no meestake abote eet...joo 'AVE a choice. The question ees...vhat choice vill joo make?”

“I see,” he answered, looking at the sword. He agreed, accepting the sword from Lak’shmi, and stared at it, seemingly lost in thought as the Master outlined the rules.

“And eef joo try to run,” the Master concluded with a smile, “Vell it ees my most friendly advice to joo no' to run.” Corwyn nodded his acceptance.

“Fifty thousand,” Corwyn whispered as he nodded his acceptance of the terms, then deftly turned to touch the tip to Master’s throat. Lak’shmi’s shouted for the elf to stop as she drew her rapiers. He yelled at her, his eyes on the Master, “Do not MOVE! Or I drive this blade through his throat!” She remained in her place, yelling for him to get back. Master simply put his hands up in the air, smiling. “Not a move,” his eyes still on the Master. “Back off, or I strike. Tell her.”

“Do as he says, Lak. For thee moment.” Her part as the dutiful slave finished for now, she stepped back and watched while the Master continued, “So I guess joo vant my head?”

“Now,” the elf continued, “Put your weapons down. Both of you.” the Master complied, indicating she should as well. Sword still at the Master’s throat, Corwyn continued. “Now then, you are a man of business. I have a counter offer.”

“Vhat ees joor bizinees?” Master suppressed his grin while Corwyn continued.

“I will fight for you. On my terms. I will fight, the next event, and that one only. I will not fight to kill. I will not fight her. If I do well, any winnings you can keep. These are my terms. One fight. You keep the profit. No more. No less.” Though she had no head for business, even Lak’shmi knew this would not work. She remained silent, appraising their strengths.

Master strained his neck to look at the sword against his throat. “May I speak?” The elf nodded once, and the Master lowered his hands a little. “Do joo know how much coin I made on thee fight she lost to joo?” The elf invited him to continue. “None. She lost. Bot, had she won.... I would 'ave made only two tousan' gold coin. Een the motch that she won, I made feefty thousan'. Thees ees a deeference of forty eight tousan' gold coin.”

“Aye,” the elf interjected. “I know the difference...”

“Joo said that joo are one for bizinees, jes?”

“The difference,” Corwyn continued dogmatically, “is Arun's life... and death...”


“Eef I agree to joor terms and joo lose...I lose.” Master blinked. “Arun?”

“Ah jes. Thee paladin. She chose death, no' I. Eef thees ees a motter of vengeance, joo 'ave made a meestake. Eef eet ees bizinees... joo 'ave my attention.”

“No,” the elf quietly demurred. “This is not vengeance.”

“Gude. Now, vhere vas I. Ah jes....losing. Eef joo lose a death motch, I do no' lose. Death motches, draw the larrgest number of spectators. Een thees past games, feefteen tousan' people came to vatch. That ees half thee population of Vestgate. Do joo know vhy eet vas no' thirty tousan'?” Corwyn remained silent. “Becos...there vere no death motches on the card. Eef vee can garrantee a death motch or two, then... More people come through the gates. My point ees thees... Vid joor oferr, I stond to lose more than I stond to gain.”

“You are finished?”

“Vhile eet seems as though joo hold all thee cards, I must respectfully decline. Feenished? One more ting. My oferr to joo still stands.” Master turned to Lak’shmi, curious about her silence. “Are joo all right, Lak?”

“Xas,” she quietly answered, having finished her assessment of the two. She knew her life, her place with the Master. If the elf prevailed, he might keep her, but he would not live long. Should he kill the Master, the guards will kill him. If he took Lak’shmi, she would die as well. She felt curious about his strong convictions, and simultaneously annoyed at his ignorance of how her world, the Master’s world, operated. The elf would get her killed, in a more unpleasant fashion than an arena death. The Master returned his attention to Corwyn, and the elf pressed the blade a bit deeper into the Master’s throat. Lak’shmi slowly, silently willed herself unseen as she bent low to pick up one of the two rapiers on the floor.

“Don’t. Move.” Corwyn barked. Her eyes darted to the elf, but he was addressing the Master, not herself. “Now you listen to me. I'll make it simple. If you agree to my terms, you stand to gain some gold. You may not gain as much as you wish, but you will gain some. More than that...”

“Thee gold I stond to gain vid joor oferr ees negligible. But, eef joo lose, I stond to lose moch more.” Samiir continued to smile, though the point of the sword pressed into his flesh. Lak’shmi rose, the rapier held behind her along the length of her leg, so no reflective flash of light would give her away.

“You will have your life,” He continued, trying to force understanding upon the Master, unaware of Lak’shmi in the corner. “If you do not agree, you will die, and perhaps I will as well.”

“That ees rich!” laughed the Master. “Sir! Thee only reason joo still breethe ees becos I allow eet. That ees providing that joo are as gude vid that blade as joo think joo are.” The elf stood confident, focussing entirely on Samiir with a little grin while answering in the affirmative. “Bot, are joo fost enough?” Master taunted. Uncertainty flashed in the elf’s eyes as Lak’shmi swiftly moved behind him.

“Lak'shmi.” Corwyn called. He talks too much, she thought as she raised the rapier point to touch the back of his neck. “Lak’shmi...”

Her voice rang cold and clear, “Three deathmatches. Twenty percent profits. Reasonable?”

“If you strike, we will both die.” His voice seemed strained, but she cared not.

“Lak...do vhat joo vill.”

“Are you slow, darthiir?” Lak’shmi disdainfully repeated the terms.

“I will not fight a deathmatch.” Crowyn continued. “Nor will I be a slave. And I will not fight you.” Lak’shmi poked at Corwyn, forcing him to react to her while the Master stepped back and began casting.

Five intense minutes later, Lak’shmi stood, panting. Her right hip bled, but they had subdued the elf. She looked at his unconscious form on the floor of her cell with a grim smile. He was lying there, not her. He was broken, she still stood.

“He is a slave now,” she spat. “Foolish darthiir.” She removed the elf’s weapons and shield when the Master spoke again.

“Ees he vorth the trouble or should I joost sell him to thee highest beeder?”

Lak’shmi blinked. After giving the elf the means to threaten her Master, he was asking her opinion? Was this a test? “I have made so many bad decisions, Master.” She frowned, then decided her mind. “Sell him. He would fight well, but he would need much restraint.”

“Jes he vould. I vill lock heem heah and decide later. Perhaps, I should throw heem een vid thee tiger. Vee vill leave heem heah. I vill return vhen he gains consciosness.” He searched Corwyn thoroughly, removing all but the barest clothing. He turned her, “Ve vill geet joo a new cell.”

She grabbed her meager belongings and followed Master. He unlocked the next cell over for her, and she meeklt settled in the back with her blanket, listening to her neighbor’s ragged breath.

“Joo can taunt him from heah as vell.”


****************************************************************

[VII] Love and Loss

“Eet ees time, my leetle Lak,” the Master said, waking her from a comfortable sleep on the straw. She silently rose in obedience, dressing and equipping her weapons. When she saw Corwyn, minimally dressed, with a rope tying his hands behind his back, Lak’shmi looked at her Master in confusion.

“Tonight I kill the priest. What do you want me to do with him?” she asked as she accepted the rope. He nodded, and bade her take Corwyn along. “Why? He will only get in the way, or try to escape! I cannot be distracted this night!” Master dismissed her objections, telling her to hurry or she will miss meeting the others set on the task. She glared at him, then at Corwyn, then pulled the rope too hard as they left. She angrily pushed him around the dark streets of the city, falling in step with others of the team along the way. At Big Bertha’s, they met with the rest of the team, waiting on the one who took point in this horrible mess of an idea. The woman set to lead them arrived late, and in a horrible mood, but she stuck to her plan, lying to all assembled about the purpose of the impending attack. Lak’shmi and Gabriel shared a secret smile, for she told him the truth and secured his aid before this night.

Positions discussed and agreed upon, they finally left for the harbor, Lak’shmi’s uncertainty growing with every step. Slaughtering an entire ship of people, some of them high-ranking priests would be exceedingly difficult. She still could see no advantage to dragging Corwyn about, other than to kill him off. If he were supposed to die, feeding the giant cats would be easier and more satisfying. Yet, he was not completely untrainable, and would make a decent arena spectacle, so killing him made no sense. As they walked past the ships bound for Northern Cormyr, she stopped and disobeyed for the first time since arriving at Westgate.

“If you know what’s good for you,” she growled a bluff, her hands too rough in untying his slender ones, “you will not flee.” But if you do, she thought grimly to herself, I will not care. She left him with the hin at the arena, to keep him out of her way while she followed their leader and the monk for the stealthy part of the task. Again, she nearly turned and ran away from the harbor to hide in her cell, but the monk’s voice pulled her concentration back. Perhaps I will die this night, she hoped with a smile. As they snuck aboard, the others distracted the captain at the docks. Madness, she thought as her rapier slid through an archer’s throat.

Chaos exploded in the harbor. Lak’shmi could only remember pieces of the struggle: the arrow between her shoulder blades, a potion quickly poured on her wound, running belowdeck, stumbling off the burning boat to see Corwyn’s horror at the two of their party dead next to him. She wiped a rapier on one of the dead's clothing, too numb to sneer at his delicate sensibilities.

Task complete, they piled into a small boat to flee the city while Lak’shmi turned towards the arena holding cells. Their leader shrieked at her to get on the little boat, Gabriel tried to talk her into joining them in their flight, even Corwyn spoke gently of the wisdom in leaving. Lak’shmi wavered, uncertain. If she fled, Master would hunt her down. If she stayed, she could be executed for the massacre. Someone pushed her into the little boat, and she cursed as the bodies of their dead comrades cushioned her fall. They reached the larger boat quickly, Lak’shmi boarded, shivering more from fear than cold. She had never run, never escaped a master. Not that she never planned it, but it happened too fast, leaving her scared with no gold and no plans. They left the only surface city to tolerate her kind.

Later, she stood at the bow of the boat, shivering and staring ahead at the darkened sea. Strong armored arms gently wrapped around her waist, she rested her head on his breastplate. The shaking stopped as a numbness settled deep into her bones. He whispered quiet reassurances, but she did not hear. Like the first time she was freed, she felt lost and confused, with no plan on how to cope with the infinite choices ahead of her. She lifted her right arm to caress his cheek behind her, holding the inside of her wrist to his mouth. He made a quiet negative sound, not wanting anyone to witness more of their affection than his embrace.

“Please,” she whispered, “Please, I need to feel alive. Please...” Cold metal-clad fingers gently clasped her wrist, his lips tickling as he whispered and kissed it in his deliciously special way. Later on deck, as everyone discussed destinations, she fell asleep in Gabriel’s lap, his armored limbs shielding her from the world.

A few days of quiet reflection brought Gabriel and Lak’shmi to the inner harbor of Selgaunt. He promised her refuge within Lady Anais’ temple, and she gladly accepted. They walked arm in arm to the Temple, Lak’shmi beginning to smile. Though elves were unwelcome, and drow hated, no one dared challenge Gabriel about the hooded grey woman on his arm. She was free. Again. The Lady Anais welcomed her to the temple with a knowing smile, and once again Lak’shmi felt safe.

Months of bliss passed. Lak’shmi held the protection of her love and a powerful temple. The Lady taught her of Shar’s blessings and mercy, which delighted Lak’shmi more than she cared to show. A goddess to serve, ensuring her soul went exactly where she thought it ought to go: Oblivion. She delighted in serving through murder first, and torment second. At night, Selgaunt became her city; she prowled the streets and alleys, silently stealing life at every opportunity. By sunrise, she nestled back into the arms of her love. She savored the happiness, for she knew it would not last forever.

Though aligned with Shar, Gabriel served another god. As was the wont of the gods, the time came for Gabriel to leave the temple in service of his own deity, and Lak’shmi could not join him. She neglected her usual devotions to Shar for one last bittersweet night with him. He vowed to return for her, she wanted to believe he would. She spent an extra day in her room, touching her neck where he kissed her last, crushing his letter to her breast, the last verse echoing in her mind:Violet, Emerald and burning flames locked in a dance of eternity,
Her image, her sinfully beautiful image, shall be inscribed in the darkest of minds.

While she embraced the sweet pain of loss, Lady Anais took the opportunity to teach Lak’shmi about the more subtle ways to serve their Goddess, without murder. She listened, learned, a new desire filling her dark heart.



***************************************************************

[VIII] Grey

An easily forgettable ragtag beggar man burst into the Temple, eager to speak with Lady Anais. She excused herself to speak quietly with him. While the hateful blue elf taunted Lak’shmi, she overheard Anais mention a name: Ivar. Her blood froze, the vitriol from the blue elf of less interest than before. Ivar, Lak’shmi’s nemesis from Skullport. Ivar, who chained her at the neck and abused her while she was yet another’s property. Ivar, who subdued and dragged her across the surface to be sold as a pit fighter in Westgate. Ivar, now the lapdog of the drow who once owned Lak’shmi. She turned to Lady Anais as the beggar scurried off.

“Ivar is here?” she asked incredulously. Lady Anias calmly affirmed that he was not only in Selgaunt, but looking for Lak’shmi specifically. A grim smile spread over Lak’shmi’s face. ‘He returns for the Crystal he failed to get last time,’ she thought to herself. The memories of that surface journey suddenly filled her head: the chain, long hours of sunlight, flowers that made her sneeze, but worst of all - weak-willed surfacers who did not even draw blade against her! Rage shuddered through her body. Lady Anais watched with grim approval, then bade Lak’shmi step forward.

“Receive Her blessings.” A quiet comforting warmth enveloped Lak’shmi as she soon felt stronger and nimbler than her usual self. She bowed her head in thanks as Lady Anais turned to reprimand the blue elf for his behavior. He reluctantly acquiesced when Lady Anais turned her attention to the main doors of the Temple.

“Prepare for a wonderful gift now. The dwarf comes!” she announced with a pleased grin, much like the surface predator’s smile before she pounces upon her prey.

Shortly afterwards, the Temple doors opened with more force than necessary. Lak’shmi tensed, careful not to crush the vial of poison in her hand. The dwarf stomped in without ceremony and immediately addressed Lak’shmi by her childhood name.

“Well well. T'half blood whore.. an' What have we here?” He confidently looked around the Temple before barking at Lak’shmi again. “Ye'll hand it over, drowblood. If ye know what's good fer ye!”

The Lady’s commanding voice rang clear, “Dwarf, in this House you make NO demands.”

Ivar ignored the Lady to bark at Lak’shmi, who still did not answer his questions. “T'crystal drowblood, dinnae be coy,” his face twisted into a grotesque sneer.

“What crystal?” Her voice the perfect pitch for innocent, though all in the Temple knew it to be false.

“T'farkin' crystal, ye know what I be talkin' about!” He began to shake as he barked at Lak’shmi.

“She holds the crystal you failed to take from me when you sold me,” Lak’shmi pointed to Lady Anais, who continued to pleasantly smile at Ivar. He weakly gestured to the Lady as he stepped forward.

“T'crystal,” he tried to bark at Lady Anais, but it came out considerably quieter. “Give it.” Lady Anais turned to Saragis, “Was that an order?” she asked in the sweetest voice. Saragis grimly bowed his head in the affirmative.

The blue elf unslung his bow, grinning malevolently, and Lak’shmi drank a potion of treeskin. Ivar began casting his favorite prayer, the one to immobilize Lak’shmi just as she was applying poison to her blade. The Lady favored Lak’shmi that day, for the prayer failed to work. She still had to prove herself worthy of the favor, and the first blow from Ivar’s vile hammer introduced doubt. It pulverized her thigh through the treeskin enchantment. Limping, but yet too enraged to feel the true extent of the damage, she continued her attempts to hit him with poisoned blade. Just as with the first time she fought him, he proved nimbler than one would guess of a dwarf. Lak’shmi merely drew the focus of his hate while the blue elf and Lady Anais attacked him from afar, their efforts far more successful, for his blood soon spilled.

Ivar landed another crushing blow to Lak’shmi, crippling her left arm. The roaring in her head had changed from rage to pain, dulling her senses and hampering her fighting further. She dropped the rapier from the injured arm but continued fighting while Lady Anais and the elf eventually drew enough of his life that he lay bleeding on the floor, unconscious. Lying prone on the floor, Lak’shmi tried focussing through the pain to land a killing blow, but still missed several times. Just as Lady Anias commanded her to stop, her rapier plunged through his neck. Lak’shmi stumbled away from the corpse, success and bloodloss mingling to numb her senses to everything but the body in front of her.

Dead. Her nemesis lay on the Temple floor. Dead. No more chains. Dead. Lak’shmi giggled.

[Misty]

[IX] Choices


I've been looking for you for a while,” Corwyn spoke without emotion, closing the temple door behind him. Lak’shmi stalled with a question, looking to Saragis or Khalia for aid, but they merely stood silent, watching.

“To kill me?” she stepped back into the shadows, trying to hide in the House of Sorrow.

“Kill you,” Derisive laughter followed. “You think that I have reason to kill you? Now why would you think that, I wonder? I do not need a reason to kill you. But,” he continued in a frightening whisper, “If anything, I have many reasons why I might kill you. Don't you think?”

“You have more than most.” Her lilac eyes darted through the shadows, her mind flitting through scenario after scenario, trying to find one where she still lived free in the end.

“Yes,” he answered as he stepped closer. “I think so. More than most.” They stood a short distance apart, studying the other’s face. “You've killed a friend. You nearly caused me to join you as a slave.” She agreed, waiting for him to draw his sword. “I spared you, and you betrayed me by striking from behind.” He looked back to Saragis and Khalia who stood impassive, watching. “Perhaps they would come to your aid, perhaps not in time. Perhaps this time, this time I will not be so stupid as to trust you.” Their eyes still locked while she trying to think of something to stay his hand. Anything.

“This time,” she was surprised her voice did not waver. “My will is my own. No matter. You shall never trust me again. That is probably for the best.” He questioned her with a snort, and she sneered in response. “You would not understand.”

“Not understand,” he scoffed. “I understand that I was foolish to trust you.” Still lacking any clear ideas but the boldest, her fear turned to impatience.

“What are we to do then, Corwyn? Stand here sneering at each other?” He remained silent, her frustration lending strength to the challenge. “Do you hunt me with the yathrin, the demons?” He moved his hand to his sword, and she moved her hand to the rapier hilt, twisting her questions to seem kind. “You wish revenge for giving you your friend's sword? For untying you? For finding out if you or my master was stronger?”

“Do you know WHY?!" his anger boiled over, trying to froce her to understand. "Do you know why I chose to ignore you in the cell and not strike you?!” She shook her head, watching his face twist. “I wanted to GIVE YOU FREEDOM!!” His words stopped her next question. “I WANTED YOU TO BE FREE!!” She stared a moment longer, then sat numbly on the floor, her hand still ready, but her eyes staring dully ahead. She quietly questioned him, trying to fathom why he wished her to be free; he screamed in frustration, his explanations only confusing her more. “Do you not understand!? You acted like a SLAVE.”

Her anger found purchase and rose again. “I was BORN an SLAVE!” she shrieked. “You are yelling at me for being what I always was!”
“Just ONCE,” he pointed his index finger up in front of her nose, “Just ONCE! You could have been free! Even if we'd failed to beat him.” He dropped his hand and looked to the floor.

“That still makes no sense!” she yelled, her mind churning. If he was not here to kill her, and he wished her free, perhaps subversion was possible? She thought of the Lady’s teachings of torment, then looked to the elf again. Show him weakness, then strength, then weakness again. “Dammit Corwyn! I'm free now but I AM STILL TRAPPED!” he turned toward her again, studying her. “I cannot leave this house during the day, or alone. Two demons now, TWO ACTUAL DEMONS! A drow priestess and two former masters. I run and hide from everything that moves. Shall I put you on this list, too? Must I run and hide from Corwyn, who likes to scream and yell at me? Why did you come? Truly? You travel all the way to an elf-hostile environment to yell at me?” she breathed deep and lowered her voice. “I do not understand. But that is the theme for this cycle, is it not?”

“Perhaps you are right,” he spoke with a sudden weariness. “It seems we cannot understand each other. I cannot understand slavery...” his voice trailed off as he corrected himself. “No. No, just a bit, perhaps I can now understand.” She leaned against a pillar and slowly sank to the ground, gesturing him to follow. He asked after Gabriel, and she watched his face soften, hearing her speak of the loss of the only lover she chose for herself.

“You will not win me over so easily,” he spoke in a steely voice. “You think I will let my guard down again, as before. Is that not what you are trying to do? Then you will strike, or perhaps they.. I warn you, this time,” he continued to stutter warnings while she wearily sighed, pushing his limits. She turned her back on him, pulling her dress off. He stopped and stared as she commanded him.

“Do it. Go ahead. Do to me what I did to you. I am unarmed and unarmored. Do it. Repay the deceit.” He marveled at her dark grey skin, smooth and unmarred, the line of curves from shoulder to waist to hip, then blushed and turned away, his voice slightly more distant.

“Lak'shmi, put your dress back on. Please.” He turned away while she dressed with a small smile. He did not strike her, nor would he. “I think if some other elves saw this,” he quietly chuckled, “They would kill me, not you.” His laugh faded to a quiet sigh. “I do not know why I seem to not hate you as I thought I would. Perhaps I understand a small, small part of what you've felt. I came because I wanted to see what had become of the one who had brought me such grief, and trouble, and yet I could not hate.”

“This,” she spread her arms wide, “is what has become of me. “I can only go out at night, with an escort, and fully covered, until it is time.” He looked at her, curious. “Time to kill my former drow master and the demon he freed.” He questioned her ability to slay a demon, but pressed no further when he sensed a protective shadow looming near. He pulled his sword out, calling into the darkness as Lak’shmi’s voice hardened, ordering him to put it away. “My Lady will reveal herself if she chooses. Do not make demands of her in her House.” He aquiesced, sheathing his weapon. Lady Anais slipped away to confer with Khalia while Corwyn returned to Lak’shmi.
“This is what you've chosen, with your freedom?” Suspicion clouded his words.

“Nau Corwyn,” she quietly answered. “Have you forgotten what people see in me? Drow.” He looked around, trying to see the Darklady, quietly pointing out she was only half drow. “Enough to die for it! People won't ask as they are swinging their axes!” He returned his attention to the source of the hissing, his pale blue eyes locked with her lilac pair.

“What will you choose today, with your freedom?” He made it sound so simple, so easy to choose to walk in the light. Lak’shmi turned to her room and equipped her weapons. She stalked behind Corwyn and whispered in his ear, “I am slave no longer. It is dark, safer for me outside.”

“I,” he flinched at her closeness. “Perhaps we can go someplace to talk then.”

“Should we be attacked,” she continued in a hard hiss, “can you protect me? Would you?” He agreed, and she found herself believing him despite her training. A dwarf joined them as they walked to the Kozakura District, only to be met with two more, the first svirfneblin since she left Skullport and a slender human. Lak’shmi fell several places behind, desperately hiding in the shadows.

“I need to explain,” Corwyn addressed the others. “I'll not hide the truth from you.” The others tried to see the occasional shadow following Corwyn, only making Lak’shmi tremble more. He stepped back to her and spoke plainly. “This is Lak’shmi.”

As the others absorbed the shock, she hissed to Corwyn. “You are bringing your friends to meet me? Were they her friends too?!? Is this a lynching?” No longer the hunter, she became a rabbit, trembling before a pack of dogs. Her eyes darted to their weapons, the axes, clubs and bows within easy reach on their respective persons. The dwarf, Gilim clenched his fists as realization hit him. This was the halfdrow that killed Arun. Corwyn spoke quickly, announcing she was out under his protection, and begging the others not to attack. They stood asking questions and he answered as fast as he could.

“I have little reason to trust her,” he tiredly finished, “For many reasons; but I believe she deserves freedom, as we are free. and a chance to start anew with her own choices to make.” The dwarf and thin human seemed to reluctantly agree, encouraging Corwyn’s idea. “She deserves a chance. I think, that she will... Well she will choose for herself, what she will. But I would that she is able to do so freely; if the Seldarine grant me to dare help her somehow, I suppose I wish to try to play a part.” They absorbed his words, slowly agreeing that she deserved to choose for herself, halfdrow or not. Tears welled in the dwarf’s eyes as he looked to Corwyn. The sore subject of the dead paladin arose, and the four friends talked, hissed, and wept until the dwarf defended Corwyn’s actions before stalking away.

“Will you introduce all your friends to me this way?” she asked, still trembling slightly.

“He did put away his axe, “ Corwyn whispered, then apologised. “I'm sorry. I did not mean to have you be frightened.”
“Now you've seen me scared,” she answered with weak laugh.

Corwyn and his two friends slowly followed the dwarf to the tavern. When they saw him, he was already five ales closer to drunk than the rest of them. Lak’shmi trudged in last, her mind working while trying to understand the dwarf, the elf, and the elf’s request. They talked, huddled, first Corwyn and Zane, then Corwyn and Gilim, Ras and Zane. It hurt her head to follow all the conversations. Corwyn spoke to them of the ills of slavery, how their group frighten Lak’shmi, how their town welcomed a halfdrow before, and did not Lak’shmi deserve a chance, too? He talked of a trip to his town; couching the pleas in terms of ‘choice’ and ‘freedom’. She questioned his motives, but any hint of desire for her was buried too deep to find. She looked on the crying dwarf, then back to the stubborn elf. His idea of freedom for me, is go to his home, do his bidding. I will not be welcome among his friends, or the town he lives. I will show him how wrong his idea is.

Just as he despaired of ‘saving’ her, she spoke to his desires. “Can you guarantee my safety? and if things turn sour, can you bring me back here?”

“I can guarantee your safety until we get to town,” he answered cautiously, unsure if she was merely taunting him. “I can promise that you will be returned unharmed if you are not accepted.”

“If anyone attacks me, ANYONE,” she emphasized in a steely voice, “I will fight friend and foe alike to escape, you hear me? If I'm not accepted, you bring me back. Let's go, before I change my mind.” He looked at her, stunned and only able to blink as her words registered.



Several days later, they sat in the woods outside Ashabenford, waiting for dark to continue travelling to Shadowdale Village. He looked at her with wonder. “I'm curious,” he began quietly as he looked into her oddly colored eyes. “Why? What made you decide to come with us?”

To show you how foolish you really are, she thought, lowering her eyes while thinking of the right answer. “I don’t know. Perhaps, to show you I'm not the monster you saw in the cage.”

“Monster,” he repeated quietly, then recovered, though a shadow of doubt remained in his eye. “I do not think I would be traveling with a monster, or bringing one to the place where my friends live.”

“Why did you wish me here, Corwyn? You begged me to choose to come with you, and here we are, hiding in the woods. Hardly safer than in the middle of Selgaunt.” She continued, “The guards that appeared while I slept show what chance I have here. It only takes one, just one person to attack, and madness will erupt. I told you I would fight if I were attacked. Do you really expect everyone to stay their hand?” She pleaded, a little unsure why she was trying so hard to convince him of his folly. “I sleep, Corwyn, your kind does not. I am vulnerable often.” Her eyes locked with his, probing his intentions, his desires while avoiding her own.
“I would've watched over you,” he spoke in the barest of whispers. She sighed at his statement while he continued. “Yes. I promised to give you quarter, did I not?”

“It is more than mere quarter to watch over me while I sleep.” Before he could answer, Zane appeared, imploring that Lak’shmi change out of her ‘evil-looking black leathers’ into something more presentable. Again they discussed the unfairness of her sire’s blood, and how the town should give her a chance. She kept her feelings of hopelessness out of her voice, for they would not be moved. It suddenly mattered that she was only half, though they did not take into account where she was raised, what she did, and what activities she enjoyed doing.

They walked along the river, Lak’shmi several paces off the road, listening to them talk of the dangers of the woods, and the people they needed to convince. They soon came to a burning wreck of a farm, and just stopped and stared for a bit. Zane and Corwyn spoke of how it was believed to be the result of a drow raid, but there was no proof. They lamented the rampant fear of the people, not bothering to look at Lak’shmi’s disinterested visage.

“I am no stranger to the cruelty of my kind,” she answered in a plain voice. “I know why we are feared.” She sighed, wondering on how naive these two seemed to be.

“Many of the people,” Zane continued, “of the Dale have been affected by events like this on a personal level. I just thought you should know the reason you may not receive the welcome we hope you will in time.”

“I appreciate your care,” her laughter jarring with the somber mood. “I expect to be interrogated and killed. Any other welcome would be a special treat.” They continued along the road in their previous pattern, Zane in front, Corwyn behind, and Lak’shmi off the road. They stopped next on a hill covered in flowers, but they could not stay. While the other two relished the beauty and peace, Lak’shmi suffered watery eyes, itchy nose, and sneezing.

When they reached the borders of the town, they stopped to cover up, then carefully proceeded. Lak’shmi hid in an abandoned barn while Corwyn found trusted friends to discuss bringing Lak’shmi in to live among them. In the barn, she remained as still and quiet among the straw and animals as she could. At midnight she pulled out her Shadow Crystal, and prayed to her Goddess for strength. Early in the morning Corwyn returned to the barn.

Lak’shmi slipped out of the shadows to stand next to him, whispering, “Do you still take me to your friends?” He shook his head in answer, his slender frame hunched in defeat.

“If she, and I as well, of all people could accept,” his quiet voice dropped to a despairing whisper. “She was gracious, she promised not to harm you; but she does not believe that you will survive here, Lak.”

“Neither did I, Corwyn.” Quietly she gathered her belongings, and they made the long silent trek back to Selgaunt.

********************************************************************

[X] Promises

Lak’shmi waited in the woods outside Ashabenford again, her Shadow cloak pulled tight over her head to keep the rain off. Her friend went into Shadowdale Village, to beg clemency from Elminster or bring Corwyn to see her. Instead, a new voice began taunting her. It sounded from everywhere and nowhere at once. So prepared to flee guards, she drank an invisibility potion, but it did not stop the voice. It resonated deep, and maddeningly arrogant. He laughed, taunted, and called her his pet. She growled about more demons chasing her, hate and anger goading her to greater foolishness. She covered completely, assumed the meek voice she used last time with the coster, and took a ride into town, hiding in the corner of the cart.

Trembling, yet determined, she slipped through the shadows of the town, hiding from guards, children, even rats as she walked north to where the barn was. She saw Corwyn, and two others standing nearby at a crossroads. As Lak’shmi crept closer, she heard their conversation. Lak’shmi momentarily forgot her fright, listening to Corwyn’s bullheaded stubborness while her friend tried to keep Lak’shmi’s identity secret, yet still arrange a meeting. She crept in a circle around the pale wash of light on the ground to stand a mere inch away from Corwyn. Her teeth dazzled as she smiled, scaring him more than an orc’s kiss. He turned to his friend Azilue, one of a precious few who did not immediately fear Lak’shmi’s dark skin, and begged her secrecy and help. She offered her room in the boardinghouse, and they quickly accepted. Lak’shmi paid her for the use, praying to Shar she would keep their secrets.

Once inside, Corwyn asked her the reason for her extreme foolishness. She used the fright from the new voice, expanding upon her feelings of vulnerability, to explain that even here, in the environs of his home, a demon toyed with her. With such despair plaguing her, she had nothing to lose. She poured all her emotion in to the performance, going so far as to pretend a romantic interest, coupled with fatalistic desperation. Though not happy to be thwarted, she secretly commended his rigidly pure stance. Yes, he wished her freedom, happiness and hope; but no, it was not because he desired her. As they opened the door to leave, Corwyn’s final statement stuck in his throat, his face contorting in rage and embarrassment. His friend stood at the door, rubbing her ear with a silly smile. Once outside, Lak’shmi slipped her a pouch of gold, whispering for her to make it a good song. If she could not subvert the elf, then a little strife in his home town would have to please her goddess.

They quietly trekked back to Selgaunt, Corwyn trying to explain how he wished her to feel, and love, and keep her heart open rather than close it to her pain. The more he talked, the more her irritation grew; the greater her irritation, the greater the pain as she twisted it to feel as though her affections were spurned. She cried and he begged in a delicate emotional dance. When an odd noise entered the forest, he drew his sword. She merely stood in front if him, lifting the swordpoint to the center of her chest, saying quietly, “Somehow, I think this would hurt less.”

He jerked it away in frustration, yelling at her to stop saying such things. She fell silent, and he again spoke of not closing her heart, even through the pain. Dully she asked they continue their trek, before the voice returned. Distant laughter cut his answer short. “Too late,” the despair in her voice now genuine as she sat on a rock.

He scanned the too silent forest and the soundless river. “There’s something,” his hushed whisper too loud in the unnatural quiet. “Shh. Listen.” He continued to search all around them, convinced the source of the voice was near.

“No, really?” her sarcasm mingled with the despair. “He speaks in my head! I KNOW he's here! Don't you see?!? I do not care anymore.” Corwyn quietly answered that he did care, while she continued through her tears, trying to hurt him. “I have found out something worse than demons. I do not care anymore. Let us go to Selgaunt.” She suddenly clutched her shoulder, choking in pain. Corwyn stopped searching the woods to look upon her as she sank to the ground. “He laughs at me.”

The distant laughter in her head spread to the forest, the rich mocking voice singing my pup-pet as Corwyn screamed for it to leave Lak’shmi alone. She looked at his suddenly protective stance over her, trying to fight off her demons, and something deep inside her broke. A wispy thread of remorse floated through her black heart.

“Stop Corwyn,” her quiet voice gaining strength as she rose, tears still falling down her dark cheeks. “Just stop. It is not your fight. Let. Let us go.” She collected herself with a deep breath, then continued. “This demon. That demon. It's all the same in the end. Even if you wanted to, what can we do against him?” They continued their journey in silence, even the voice stopped mocking.

In Selgaunt, Lak’shmi and Corwyn talked more. She cried much, throwing her despair completely into the pain of a scorned love, hoping her goddess was pleased. In the end, Corwyn gave Lak’shmi a flower, and begged her to tell him when she would travel to Westgate. He wished to travel with her as he claimed he also had business there.

She returned to the Temple in a foul mood, but Treskon, the other halfdrow, quickly dispelled it. Afterwards he asked her aid for an assassination. It was simple, too simple. As the bells rang in Selgaunt, they were informed that the dead man’s spirit easily described Treskon’s grey skin and vibrant red hair. The others of the temple fled to Waterdeep, while Lak’shmi’s feet trudged north. She ruminated on the promise she had no intention of keeping, yet did keep with every step closer to the land of flowers and elves.


Days later, she stood huddled in the rain, waiting for Corwyn. She sent him a message by coster, and merely waited to see if he would show. If he wishes to travel with me, she tried to convince herself, then perhaps subverting him is not so out of reach as I thought. When he showed, she suppressed the small delighted thrill in her breast, and snuck up to him, smiling as he jumped. She giggled as he turned to her with a wide smile, noticing the flower he gave her tied to her pack. His surprise soon gave way to concern, and they hurredly left the Dale.

They arrived in Selgaunt at dusk, sitting in the now familiar Kozakuran District to converse and wait out the night before sailing to Westgate. Corwyn looked up, only now noticing the snow.

“Seasons change,” he said, almost to himself. “Perhaps many other things will change as well.” Lak’shmi looked at the wet ground, idly wondering how much colder her city would become as she wrapped tighter in her Shadow cloak. He continued with a laugh, “One thing that will not change, my inability to spot you!” She laughed, and shifted until he saw her again.

“Well,” she began, “I sent the letter, and you are here. What exactly are we going to do in Westgate?”

“It seems you've a mysterious letter to follow up on. I need to find information on Samiir. What did the letter say again? To meet someone in Westgate at a certain location?”

“Yes. Meet at the Jolly Warrior, for a 'most extraordinary opportunity to be presented.' The time for the meeting is past, but I'm sure we'll be watched as soon as we arrive. At any rate, I need to be sure the Master is not longer hunting me, if he ever did.” He offered to walk a distance behind her, making it look as though they were not together. She smiled at his naivete, pointing out that they will exit the same boat. “Corwyn,” she sighed, “I am so accustomed to being watched everywhere I go. I just find it safer to assume they know all. Please, walk with me.”

When the sun rose, they quietly walked to the inner harbor, taking the first ship available to Westgate. They spent much time in the other’s company, talking over the nuances of their first meeting. One night, after her devotions on deck, he joined her, speaking cryptically about their business in Westgate. Again, she spoke of always being observed.

He watched her speak, a strange shadow of a smile touching his lips. “I think that your business and mine are intertwined.. Or soon will be.”

“Seems to be our way, doesn't it?” They quietly laughed, then fell into a comfortable silence. After a time, she apologized for crying so much and looking the fool. He laughed again, but this time, she knew he did not laugh at her.

“I suppose it is difficult,” he began, looking over the water, avoiding her pained eyes. “No, I know it is, for you to experience such things; such pain, change, and feel so exposed. Tender.” He softly sighed. “I understand, if all this is hard, maybe too hard. Such things are hard even for the more 'softer' races to bear. I do not think your tears were foolish. They were... they were like drops of liquid jewels... like dripping silver or mithril..” he slowly shook his head, speaking more to himself than her, “The fates have such irony in their weaving. How did we come to all this, Lak'shmi? At one time we would have killed each other without much hesitation.”

“Nau, Corwyn,” she whispered. “You would have killed me without hesitation.”

“What about,” he started, looking at her with wonder in his eyes. “You? You would not have done the same to me?”

“I am more in the practice of dodging those who would kill me outright, not seeking their blood. You are better at fighting. Nau, I would not. I would not have killed your friend, had she not demanded my death.” She stared intently at the railing of the deck. “I am a monster, Corwyn. I know. But; but I did not seek deaths just because they were of a certain race,” her voice trailed to a whisper, while she ignored the tiny voice in her head screaming LIAR!

“You,” he whispered, “really would not have killed either of us....”

“No,” she whispered. “I hated being forced to. I had just lost my freedom, Corwyn, and was dragged across the surface by a chain around my throat. I hated everything, and everyone; but mostly myself. Yet if you did not fight because I did not wish to, I would have been whipped. I was only free for a month, and it was so quickly gone,” once again she sighed heavily before speaking strange words. “I am sorry, Corwyn.” He quietly accepted her apology while she fell silent, cursing herself.

In a few days, they slipped into the harbor of Westgate, and made their way to the Jolly Warrior. Lak’shmi immediately went upstairs to change into a more comfortable dress. She returned to the common room as a yellow elf left in disgust after seeing Corwyn smile at Lak’shmi. They conversed with his friend, Noril for a time, then retired to the room to speak more privately. Lak’shmi cast a longing look at the bath while Noril and Corwyn caught up, and just began entertaining the notion of sleeping in the huge bed, when a heavy fist pounded on the door.

“OPEN UP!! CITY WATCH!!”

The two elves quietly cursed. Corwyn hissed for her to get in the shadows as the voice bellowed again.

“WE KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE DROW!!”


“OPEN THE DOOR!”


“LAST WARNING!”



They knew better than to openly fight the City Watch, thus did they file through the city to their jail cells. Once again, Lak’shmi slept on stone, trying to stay warm.

****************************************************************

[XI] Imprisoned


“Were you aboard the ship that night of the massacre?” Commander Dex Wilkinson asked in a firm voice. Lak’shmi denied the accusation, not trusting truth to save her. “I have a witness who claims that you were amongst those who committed the crime.”

“Your witness was mistaken,” she flatly replied. He questioned further, and she continued. “I was still celebrating my victory over the paladin.”

“I see. Very well. You will not be held long here then. I appreciate you telling me the truth. The rest of you will be freed as well.” The hin shouted in joy before the Commander corrected him, stating only the elves would go free. Lak’shmi’s heart sank. She was not to go free. “I will return in the morning. Oh! One last thing.” Here is it comes, the trap to keep me here. “After your victory, you say you celebrated. What did you do, may I ask?” She claimed to go out with friends, drinking to idiocy and waking in the port of Selgaunt.

“So you boarded a ship, then?” his stern eyes focused on hers, his thoughts churning.

“I don't think I boarded a ship. I think I was carried like a sack onto a ship.”

“And who were these supporters who carried you aboard? Out of curiosity.” She hastily named the woman and the hin from the massacre. “No problem. Not to worry. You're only being held under procedure. You will be released in the morning.” She heard the lie in his voice, but said nothing. Despair had once again claimed her heart, she merely waited to die. “You know? I was thinking,” he coyly continued while she imagined a rapier in his throat silencing him. “We found a woman dead near the scene and she carried a red fan and there was a hin woman lying not to far from her burned to a cinder. It is just funny that those you mention are, well nevermind. Good night.”

He left them to settle into their cells, Corwyn farthest from Lak’shmi, with Noril between the two. The other prisoners’ chatter kept them from thinking much on their own predicament. One seemed to know all, but talked to his imaginary dog, the hin just talked too much. Noril volunteered his paper and writing supplies, in the event Lak’shmi and Corwyn wanted to pass notes to each other. She thanked him, then returned to sulking.


The next morning Commander Wilkinson returned to them. Lak’shmi looked into his impassive face, and knew before he opened his mouth. Why do they pretend at fair justice in this foul city? At least Skullport had the decency to dispense with pretense.

“I spoke with Just Captain Hammersong. I am afraid that there has been a change,” he fixed Lka’shmi with direct gaze, almost looking sorrowful. “You are to be tried for murder in three days’ time.” She dully asked whose while Corwyn gripped the bars of his cell in disbelief. “A priest of Torm, Brother Steelmight. I suggest you obtain a barrister. The City will appoint you one if you do not have one at this time.” She asked after the elves, and he indicated that Noril would soon be released. They sank back in their respective cages, absorbing the shock while she calmly curled up on the floor and tried to sleep.

Hours later, though time held no meaning, the three sat morosely in their cells. Lak’shmi’s voice broke the silence. “Don't you have powerful friends, Corwyn?” He stuttered a vague affirmative, the wispy thread of remorse from earlier growing into a thin cord of affection. “Ask them to aid you,” she continued, her quiet voice echoing through the cells. “I'll... I'll be fine.”

“No, Lak'shmi. You're not dying here. Not like this.” He did not understand, she did not despair over the injustice of being the only one tried for the massacre, or over dying.

“No,” she agreed. “I will be enslaved again, but I doubt I'll die here.” Her body went limp again, huddled into a shivering ball.

“No, don't say those things,” how could his voice still hold hope? What hope was there in these cells? “I know it is hard here. It is not over yet, Lak'shmi. Don't give up.” Give up? One had to hold hope in their hearts to give up. Her cheeks glistened, only Noril was close enough to see. He asked if he were freed, what she wished. The Darthiir aiding the Drow. She had nothing left in her to laugh. She allowed that cord to wrap around her heart, and begged he find Corwyn’s friends. Her life was forfeit, but he could still go back. She fell asleep to the lilting whispers of the elves.


“Lak'shmi,” Corwyn called softly to her.

“Xas, Corwyn?” she replied with a forlorn sigh, resigned to her fate.

“You're speaking in Drow again,” she could hear the pain in his voice. “Old habits, I suppose.” His voice suddenly took on a false cheeriness. “We are going to have to get you a luxurious hot bath after we get you through this.” His faint smile only make it harder for him to see the tears pouring down her face.

“Do not tease me, Corwyn. It hurts too much already.” She willed the cord wrapped around her heart to cut off her breath.

“I'm not teasing, Lak” Corwyn opened his mouth to speak more, but Noril interrupted him, and once again, she fell asleep to their musical whispers.


“Lak, are you well rested?” Again, Corwyn’s concern gently woke her. She quietly replied she was, and he continued his light banter. “How are you faring? I'm sure someone will come with food and water in the morn.”

“I am well enough, Corwyn. This is not unfamiliar treatment.” She tried matching his light tone, but even he could hear it was a pretense. Noril proceeded to provide some distraction by telling a story. Throughout the telling, Lak’shmi and Corwyn gazed sadly at each other, quickly understanding Noril’s hidden meaning.


Old Man Sam was once called Seaside Sammy and he was one of the Isles most dashing of sea captains in his prime. Oh the ship he had and the way it cut through water! Seaside Sammy and his crew where challenged one night by a rival captain to a race over too many mugs of grog. As the sun rose that dawn both ships’ crews left for their vessels for a race to the far side of the Isles and back to port. with both captians and crews risking thier good names on this race. Brave old Sam's ship was falling behind, so he decided to pass through the garden of Hag's tooth, where he lost his vessel to the rocks. Suddenly the race no longer mattered as the side of the ship was torn jagged and wide. All were lost except for Sammy, who was badly broken but some how safely delivered to the shelter of a rock.

Just as the horror of the incident shattered his courage, it summoned the bravery of a nearby mermaid who was always too shy to ever swim near. She came to rescue him, and out of compassion for his plight, she offered to carry him to shore where he could manage back to port on his own. He would dare not enter the waters ever again, even with her promise of safety, so he sat broken on his rock. She felt unwanted and swam away. After days of hunger and thirst, she returned to offer him a safe return to shore but his fear was too much, he was scared of the water. Instead, she would return briefly to feed him, then leave.

She stopped asking to take him to shore, and with passing she stayed longer each visit. He never feared the water less, but he did grow to love her and although she was still the shy mermaid of Hag's tooth, she learned to never be shy with him. After more than two moons she asked him again if she could take him to shore. The Hag's tooth was mostly rock, she was running out of food to feed him, yet she, too, feared open waters. If she could take him to the safety of shore they could still have their visits and she wouldn't have to swim far from the safety of Hag's Tooth. Sammy’s fear wouldn't let him though. So she had to enter open waters to feed him and it was there she swam no more. Sammy blamed Umbra's fist for taking her, but no one but her and what got her knows for sure what happened. Another vessel passing the far side of the isle eventually found Sam on his rock and carried him stark raving mad back to land. Sam's one regret on his bed was that he was not brave enough to be with the only one he ever truly loved.


As Noril finished the tale, the two elves looked upon Lak’shmi’s form, curled in a tight ball on the floor, her shoulders shaking.

“And,” Corwyn’s choked voice broke the silence. “That's the end, I take it?”

“It can be,” Noril replied drily, “if you are too scared to swim with the one you love.” Corwyn called it a good tale, and Noril rounded on his friend’s density. “No Corwyn! It's a sad story for I knew old Sam! He was a mean bitter old bastard who died unhappy, when all he needed was the bravery to be!” Lak’shmi’s shoulders stopped shaking, and her breathing slowed once again as the elves whispered in their tongue.


Days passed with little change. They were given prison garb, and Noril gave Lak’shmi his cloak to keep her warm. When she tried to return it, he spoke softly to her “Keep it mermaid, the seas are still rough yet.” He smiled affectionately to her, and the cord grew a little thicker.
.

Another cycle, and Lak’shmi quietly rose from the cold floor of her cell. Noril was in reverie, Corwyn asked after her sleep. They talked of reverie and dreaming, then tentatively broached the subject of what they would do, if all escaped. After exchanging sentiments that each wished the other to neither die nor be enslaved, he asked of her past. She fell quiet, concerned with his new interest, then flashed a quick smile.

“You had not asked,” she brazenly grinned, preparing to carefully word whatever answer he sought. “If you are not afraid of the answers, then ask what you would wish to know.”

“What about Gabriel? You never fully explained.”

She exhaled heavily, unprepared for him to ask specifically about her prior love. Of all the subjects and shady dealings, why Gabriel? Was he trying to push her away? Hurt her more? She spoke of him in a faraway voice, not spinning her answers but speaking plain truth. She finished and turned to him, ready for more questions.

“Then it was a happy bond you had,” he quietly mused. “And a heavy loss when he left.” He fell silent.

“I do not hurt enough when I gaze upon you, that you must ask about Gabriel?” she lay down on the floor, staring at the stone ceiling.

“I only wished to hear more about your past,” he tried to cover his motives.

“Corwyn, everything causes me pain. I am open to you now, ask what you dare.” He tried to stop, again citing that he did not wish to cause pain, though he just asked about a most painful subject. “Then what is it, Corwyn? Why stop now? Don't you have other questions? Or do you think my feelings for you are false, because Gabriel had only recently departed?”

“A few months is a very short time to me, Lak'shmi. To move from the loss of a loved one, to another, in a few months,” he sighed. “It is scandalous to many of my people.”

“My very existence is scandalous to three races of people, Corwyn, so this would be nothing new. Would it?” She suddenly turned to face him again. “Are you scandalized, Corwyn?” He quietly, sincerely denied the accusation, and she pressed the issue. “Then what do you feel?”

“It is much too late I think for me to be scandalized. What do I feel? I feel sadness, and yet hope. I feel conflicting desires.” Here he turned to look directly at her again. “Lak'shmi, you must understand! I know that you know this as well as I, there are many distances between us, that are not easily or lightly bridged. Even as we sit in these cells, separated, though our desires may beckon; it will not be a small matter to bridge such distances.”

He did not hear her small gasp of surprise. “What I would like to know, Corwyn, is it even possible to do so? This is the first you have acknowledged any desire towards me.” She studied his eyes over the distance, her own guarded against more pain.

“Perhaps it is,” he acquiesced. “Lak'shmi, many men of different races find you irresistibly alluring, I know. I did not want to acknowledge it at first, but you-- You are a beautiful creature, Lak'shmi, of a perilous beauty. Yet it is not what drew me to you; at least, not primarily. I could not love someone, even if their beauty was greater than the splendor of the sun and the moon only for their physical beauty alone, if their heart was--”

“Black?”

“I suppose there is no other word for it. Lak'shmi, you've put me in a dilemma. Even if we get out of here, both alive and well. How can you and I,” he breathed deep, trying to carefully shoose his words. “This will not be easy, for either of us. What price are you, and I, willing to pay for it? I cannot and will not, force you to change merely for the sake of pleasing me. I do not wish to make a slave of you again! I would that you make your choices as freely as possible, because you wish to, not because of what I would think.”

“I made my choices, Corwyn.” her voice firm and unwavering, though her mind still confused. He hid something, she could almost see it. “I know what I desire, I know to what lengths I will go to get it. I wish to assess if the possibility exists, Corwyn, before I let myself feel any more.” He called her name, but she did not answer.

“Listen to me, Lak'shmi, please. I will not deny that I have feelings and desires for you. But I will not, cannot bring myself to follow them at the cost of throwing away all I value and believe. I cannot do such, for any woman.”

“I have not asked you to throw away your beliefs; unless touching me constitutes disregarding those things you value.” her voice trailed off, fearful of his answer.

“No, Lak'shmi, that is not what I mean. Touching you by itself would not violate my beliefs. I am not like that. Lak, I need to know,” she commanded him to ask it, before either of them lost their nerve. “I need to know you will not return to your old ways. The ways of a slave, of someone who would– who would attack another because of the wishes of her master, attack someone who means her no harm. Someone who lives in bitterness and scorn, anger and fear.”

“Precious few mean me no harm! Even you wished harm upon me for no other reason than my appearance. I do not kill randomly, and never have. I will not do it because I am told to, if that is what you mean; yet I cannot deny I desire to see the lifeblood of any who call me a drow whore. I am a filthy abomination, Corwyn; many seek to destroy me.”

“You've been hurt by many males, your entire life until now,” a sad smile graced his lips as looked gently upon her. “Lak'shmi, you speak as one who has been hurt, and expects to be hurt. I can understand why. You have gone through things that I cannot imagine.”

“I cannot change how I feel,” she spoke with genuine sadness. “But I will stop pursuing, if that is your wish.” He apologized again for causing her pain. “It is no matter, Corwyn. That is the way of things.” Feelings she only pretended at before solidified, increasing her despair.

“Seeing the pain you are in now, I'm thinking that perhaps it would have been better for me to have not come back to you. No, it does matter! I can see the pain in your eyes!” he turned away, leaning against the bars.

“If you wish me to live and feel, then I will feel and live in pain.” she quietly, honestly answered. “I had hoped, when you came, that there might be some respite from it.” One deep breath, then her voice fell cold again. “But I am wrong.”

“I did not wish for your life to be one of pain,” he quietly answered as he sat against the bars. She dismissed his words with a wave. Instead of falling silent, he rose and addressed her again with his irrepressible hope. “We'll see, Lak. We do not know the future. We'll see. You should get some rest. Be ready for anything.” he quietly spoke, trying to reassure himself as much as her. She asked if he planned a fool’s death.

“Fool's death? I'm not planning on any death,” he grew quiet as he listened to his own words. “But it may well come. Lak, if despair grips our hearts, then we are already close to death. Do not despair. Please. I can imagine the fields of the Dales now, and almost smell the flowers, see the trees. There is still hope. This may only be a cloud, a great storm, but it may pass yet. And if it does not, I am ready for what comes, Lak.”

“Corwyn, I do not think this is the end, for either of us. The pain comes from finally realizing that what I desire, is beyond my grasp. That, despite everything, my skin once again damns me, bars me from some happiness!”

“We do not always get what...” he stopped, her words cutting through his own private pain. “Your skin? Lak'shmi, you think it is because of your skin, that I,” the pain in his eyes could be seen from her cell. “If I still merely saw your skin color, I would not be here with you at all.”

“We do not always get what we want?” she scowled, trying to hold her poison tongue in check. “You think I haven't heard that one before? I have not asked you to abandon your principles, not once. If it is not my skin, then is my heart so black you cannot see any good in it?” she continued probing, trying to understand.

“No! Dear gods, Lak'shmi, I did not mean to sound as if I were saying that! I only fear, that the battle rages in your fragile heart, and that you may yet succumb to the old darkness. I would do all I can to help you in that battle, but there are some things that I cannot do. I cannot offer my love, my affection, as a reward for the battle you face.”

“All I am hearing is yes, you desire me, but no, you won't act upon it. That you want more from me, but you still won't touch me.” she curled up on the floor, trying to block out his voice.

“I cannot, Lak’shmi! Do you not understand?” His pain coursed through her, but she felt no joy, only pain to match his.

“I do understand!! I keep saying I understand that you cannot touch me!” she gripped the bars, trying to shake them with her now pale grey fists as her frustrations exploded. “I DO understand! You keep talking, saying I don't, but I do! You cannot touch me, though I would wish it! You cannot love me, though I desire it. You want me to open myself to feel, but you do not like what you see! GODS!”

“Lak'shmi,” he started quietly, “As I said before, you are right. We do not always get what we want, what we desire. I am sorry. I really am. But I see no point in this any longer.” Anger flashed in her eyes as she accused him of trying to make her hate him. “Gods!!” his anguished cry echoed through the room. “Leave me be!! Don’t you understand??! I cannot give you all of my heart freely now!”

“And you never will! I know this!” her voice matched his in volume and intensity. They continued to yell back and forth, the other prisoners knowing better than to interrupt this strange nonlover’s quarrel. He spoke of his own unrequited love for another, and she continued telling him she would not interfere. He asked what she wanted. “I want to be with you, together, in laughter and love and all that crazy crap I hated not four months ago!”

“AND I WITH YOU!!” he bellowed back.

“Then WHY is it so hard to do? Just because I know your pain, you expect me to feel it for the next ten years? It hurts, yes. GODS does it hurt! But if you cannot, then I WILL move on! I will not pine for you, Corwyn, forsaking all joy in life!”

“Good! Then do it!” he pounded his fists into the bars, though the grimace of pain did not come from his hands. “Please! Move on! There is nothing for you from me! NOTHING!!”

“LIES! There is, but you are afraid!! So we will get out, and I’m going to drag your pretty blue arse to your girl and TELL her she is KILLING you!” She finished with a glare as her voice echoed through the cells.

A deep voice intruded. It was that of an associate of Samiir, come to collect Corwyn. He offered to give the pair a few moments more. Corwyn breathed deep, trying to calm himself.

“I did not want to depart on such harsh-- please, understand me. If you cannot understand, at least do not hate me.”

“I cannot hate you Corwyn,” her own voice considerably calmer. “I just wish you would learn to enjoy life. REALLY enjoy it; not wait ten years for someone to make up her mind.” He spoke of trying to secure her release, while spoke all that she feared she would not say again. “I'll be fine, Corwyn. Just don't die on me, eh? Because if you do, I will get someone to raise you from the dead so I can kill you myself!” she fixed him with a bold smile. “So do not die, because I have no gold.”

Commander Wilkinson hurried Corwyn along, while he pled for Lak’shmi to be given more blankets. He sincerely promised he would while Lak’shmi lightly teased. “You know, Corwyn, it's usually a lot simpler. You love two, one loves you back,” her voice trailed off into a hollow laugh.

“Lak... Lak'shmi,” he pled. “Don't give up. I'll do all I can. I'm going to find a way to get you out. If it kills me.” The cord of twisted feelings grew to a rope, tangling in and around her dark heart, the tightness in her chest expanding, choking her voice down to a whisper. She knew he could not answer in kind, but she had only one last thing to say.


“I love you.”

******************************************************************

[XII] Fallen


Gi Olath Jallil d'lil Veresi Isto, dosst wanre zhah wun ssrig'luin. Usstan joros dos, qualla belbau uns'aa gre'as'anto, xor belbau uns'aa l' orn ulu sila gre'as'anto ulu byrren.*


Lak’shmi finished her prayer, rising from her knees and secretly hiding the Shadow Crystal they failed to take from her. She curled under the blankets, waiting for the noose.

Commander Wilkinson brought her meals himself, occasionally asking questions, but usually just looked upon her in pity. She volunteered to tell all she knew of the massacre for clemency. Desperate, and ultimately useless. She told the Just Captain all, and still they wished for a trial. She held no illusions that the trial would save her, she only waited for it to be over.

Armond, the same mage she knew from Skullport visited her, asking many questions. She answered the same as with the Just Captain. A few hours later, a young human female came to visit her, introducing herself as JenWa, a friend to Corwyn. Foolishly, she thought not of her plight, but her last fight with the elf. “Are you the one he loves?” she challenged JenWa.

“No,” the pretty human blinked in surprise. She shook her head clear of the distraction. “I will be your barrister. Is there anything you can tell me now that might help your plight?” Lak’shmi visibly relaxed, telling her everything she told the Just Captain, trying to save her dark hide. Shortly afterwards they were escorted to the trial room, where Corwyn, Gilim and a pale elf stood together, Treskon and Armond watching from a dark corner. All eyes turned to face the two women as they entered, Corwyn’s friend holding a fond gaze for JenWa. Lak’shmi’s demeanor softened, her lilac eyes gazing over the Tyrrans, the soldiers, and the small band of spectators.

The Just Captain entered, the trial began. She hardly listened to anyone, instead trying to wriggle out of the rope tying her wrists, while secretly stealing glances to Corwyn. Eventually it ended, with the pronouncement that she would hang for her crimes come morning. JenWa apologised, the others looked pitifully upon Lak’shmi as she was led back to her cell. At midnight she prayed again, then slept. A few hours before morning, Commander Wilkinson returned. She grew accustomed to his pity-filled visage, but this time was different. He looked almost happy. Lak’shmi prepared to spit insults at him when he spoke in a merry tone.

“Step out. You have been released.” He grinned at her shock, unlocking her cell door and too slowly leading her out to the front desk. “Yes, Lak’shmi. You are free. You will not be hanged. Have a seat and I will gather your things.”

She sat in the waiting area, trying not to fidget, when a well-dressed noblewoman stepped from the shadows. Lak’shmi instinctively stood, clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head in respect.

“You must be Lak'shmi?” she questioned in a rich, cultured contralto. She answered in the affirmative. “I have heard much about you. Commander? Can we be left alone?” The Commander immediately left, taking all his men with him. Lak’shmi marveled at the woman’s power, then looked at her hands for a collar. “Now,” she returned her attention to the dark woman in white. “Come, sit child. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Dhalia Vhammos. Do you know me?”

“My Lady,” Lak’shmi bowed her head again. “I have heard of you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, reciting the title she knew.

“For now, you know all you need,” she said with an approving smile, then gave her an alternate accounting of what happened to the priest. Lak’shmi bowed her head, not sure if it were truth, or a cover story to tell others. She pushed the question from her head as she gratefully accepted an apprenticeship to the Lady.

“I want you to have this,” Lady Vhammos pulled a weapon from behind her, offering it to Lak’shmi. A fine rapier of darkened metal with the shadow of a name inscribed along the blade: Barra Tsoss.** “A gift, and what you will begin your training with.”

“My most humble thanks, my Lady,” Lak’shmi accepted with a bow, then brandished it for her patroness. The high Lady blessed Lak’smi, then returned her belongings before making a swift exit. Lak’shmi changed into her velvet dress, smoothing it over her torso before walking out the main doors of the Tower.

The Commander spoke with JenWa and Corwyn, with Treskon a short distance behind them. All stopped and stared a moment at seeing her walk out. The Commander and JenWa smiled, total shock covered Corwyn’s face, and Treskon turned away, bittersweet tears of joy wetting his cheeks.

“I am free,” Lak’shmi smiled and spoke quietly in the stunned silence. Corwyn spoke her name, tentatively stepping closer to her, then stepped back as he praised his gods for her freedom. Lak’shmi slipped away to speak to Treskon as he and JenWa returned to their previous conversation with the Commander.

“What is going on?” she whispered to him, her body blocking their view of him.

“Corwyn gave two of his friends to secure your freedom,” he answered in a choked whisper. “I must leave. Keep to the Shadows.” He bit his lower lip, stifling the choked sobs that threatened.

“Veldrin tlu xuil dos, ussta Vassnti,” she tenderly hissed as she wiped tears from his cheeks.
“Dossta Vassnti,” he answered, his grey hand on hers a moment before turning away. When he was safely out of sight, Lak’shmi turned to see Corwyn fixing her with an odd look.

“You have gained a companion only to lose two? How is that complicated?” the Commander incredulously asked the question on Lak’shmi’s mind. Corwyn did not answer him while JenWa fixed him with an angry stare.

“It was unfortunate,” he replied with a contorted expression. “Lak’shmi, we may have to help Al and Glim escape, but I want you to be ready to disappear if need be. I do not want to see you end up in this place EVER again!”

“I will, Corwyn,” she pulled something small out of a pocket, using her free hand to gently clasp one of Corwyn’s. He jumped at her touch, warily watching. “Here, take this. Just in case I miss another chance to give it to you.” She placed a ring in his palm, then closed his fingers over it, holding his hand in hers a moment more than necessary, ignoring the sensual thrill of their touch. He began to speak her name, but she placed a single finger over his lips, her lilac eyes locked with his pale blue pair. “Shhh...” her voice no more than a throaty whisper, “we must free your friends.”

The Commander spoke of forming search patrols for one of his men, then he bade the three to find a room and rest. Several of the guards bid Lak’shmi to enjoy her freedom, and stay out of future trouble. She heartily agreed, then they turned to find an Inn.

“Lak'shmi, see?” he quietly spoke as they walked. “Corellon heard!” She repressed a sudden urge to laugh and correct him over which god answered, and only smiled. “You were not left to die,” his giddiness more than a little infectious, she allowed a small laugh, even if he was dead wrong.

“Lak’shmi? I,” he called to her again, his voice faltering in his happiness. “I just– I am so glad to see you. We have much to do still. Much to talk about.” She agreed, and laughed again. He still found it hard to speak. “Your laughter is pleasant. Much better than your other sounds.” She laughed again, wondering how he could be over one hundred years older than her, yet still so naive.

They rented rooms in the Rising Raven Inn. Corwyn and Lak’shmi shared a room while JenWa slept in the adjacent room. Lak’shmi happily bounced on the bed, inviting Corwyn to sit with her. She reminded him she would hold to her promise to not pursue, and he timidly sat.

“Lak'shmi,” he softly laughed. “I cannot express how glad I am to see you free. We left, on some hard words that were unresolved. I am so sorry, Lak'shmi.” She asked why, not to test, but genuinely curious. “For being angry and harsh and...”

“Honest?” She smiled softly to him. “It is alright, Corwyn.”

“Honest,” he heavily sighed. “That is a hard word to say for me these days. It should not be; but it is.” He rubbed his jaw, where she noticed a faint scratch, and asked about it. I am alright. She packed a lot into her punch. She was the abbotess, I think, of the Tyrran order in Westgate.” He searched her eyes. “She is a trustworthy person, along with the Commander. If you are not of–“ a pained sigh escaped his lips. “Just do not set foot inside the Abbey, Lak. Treskon did, and he had an unpleasant experience.”

“I had no plans to,” she grinned wide, remembering the Tyrrans who sought to hang her for doing her duty as a slave, then spoke softly of Treskon’s innocence.

“He reminds me of you in some ways, I suppose. In one way, at least.” She fixed him with a curious look, waiting for him to continue. “I suppose I see him as a bit lost, yes. Not sure where he wishes to stand. In some ways, you are like that as well.” She quietly agreed, not sure what else to say before he started with the questions again. “Lak'shmi, the priest that was killed- did you ever regret being a part of it? Besides having to flee and hide and being captured, obviously.”

“Corwyn, I almost walked away before it ever began. I think I should have,” she morosely answered. Again, her answer surprised him. They slowly continued, him asking about the massacre, and her answering, focusing on her unwillingness to participate. He seemed genuinely pleased with her answers, before his thoughts turned to Samiir again. He walked behind the screen and fidgeted with his clothing, only to step out in nothing but a silk undergarment. He feigned surprise while she looked him over a moment.

“Oh Corwyn, you tease me,” she sighed heavily, unable to hide a smile. She looked at her hands in her lap, mumbling. “You know how I feel.” He quickly apologised and dressed, after which she patted the bed next to her. “Come on, I promised not to molest you.”

“I am not afraid of you. I just,” he started, finishing in a whisper, “or maybe I am.” He looked into her eyes, and cut off her whispered response. “Yes, I am afraid. You were right. I am afraid of what I feel for you.” She leaned closer to him, but pulled back. He softly smiled to her, then planted a gentle kiss her forehead. She savored the warmth that radiated from his lips, forcibly controlling herself to do nothing more than enjoy the moment.

“I love you, Corwyn.”

“Sweet dreams, Lak’shmi.”


She woke to him watching her, she buried her head under the blankets to settle the tight pain in her chest. As they walked back into town, he asked about the night of the massacre again. Surprised to discover he believed the lie, she told him the same thing she told the Just Captain and JenWa. She stayed his anger by asking how he could trade his friends for her, subtly probing his limits. He explained, admitting it was an evil choice. Her eyes twinkled with a smile, the rope loosened to let her black heart beat. Help his friends, then make him fall.

They attempted to sneak into the arena area, in order to free Gilim and the elf, Alaelsar, but instead Corwyn was swiftly beaten and captured. Lak’shmi intercepted Samiir as he approached the holding area. His shock as seeing her alive provided her just enough impetus for a plan. She tried to get the friends freed, due to Samiir capturing them, but not securing Lak’shmi’s release; but that did not work. She announced her affiliation with Castle Vhammos, but that only meant he would not touch her, neither would he free his prisoners. Frustrated, JenWa went into the cell with Gilim and Alaelsar, while Lak’shmi joined Corwyn.

In the cells, Lak’shmi could hear the frustration from his friends, while he continued to justify his actions Samiir informed them that they could go free if they fight for him, together or seperately and, of course, live. Lak’shmi was banned from fighting, due to her affiliation with Castle Vhammos, but he granted her permission to watch from the sand pit. She warned Corwyn his friends were angry with him, but he did not listen.

In the ready area, Corwyn’s friends stood, hands shackled behind their backs. Samiir gave Corwyn the choice to fight alone, or with the entire group. If he unlocked their shackles, they fight. If he left them restrained, they leave free. He tried securing their freedom with his death, but they would not have it. Even Lak’shmi saw their determination, and secretly wondered how Corwyn could deny them choice.

“You have not acted as part of this group,” she started, it seemed Corwyn was the only one to not see the storm brewing in her eyes. “You made decisions in our place. Why are you always trying to bear it all our your shoulders? You should have let us make our own decision!”

“JenWa,” he started quietly, “I did not want this to happen. That's why I came alone. I should have not involved you at all. This is the result.”

“No,” the pale elf answered, “you should have trusted us from the beginning.”

“I know what you will say,” he quietly spoke, looking to the key in his hand, then to his friends. He wanted to send them home while he died in the pit. He wished to decide for them, and call it freedom. Again. Lak’shmi scowled in fury.

“Ask them, Corwyn,” she spoke firmly but quietly, her voice slowly gaining strength, “what they wish. Let them choose their fate.”

“Lak, I already know what they will say.”

“NO!” she pulled her whip out in frustration, “ASK them! That was JenWa's whole damned point! Do not presume, just ask!”

“How can I ask them to walk into the jaws of death yet again, when I can set them free?” he asked, staring at the key in his hand.

“Because they wish to choose their fates, not let you do it for them!” Her whip snicked back and forth on the stone floor. “You are not their master, do not act as one! Not even out of good intentions!”

“No. I cannot let them do this.”

“WHY NOT?!?” her whip cracked in the air beside her, punctuating each outburst. “It is not your choice!” Crack!

He looked up from the key and addressed them, Lak’shmi’s whip snicking across the stone behind him. “I can free you, all of you. Now. End this trouble. You can all go home. I know that you may not be pleased that I do this alone. But how can I ask you to place yourself in harm’s way after all that you have gone through?”

“People die for the right to chose their destiny,” JemWa gently reminded him. “All I had when I left, was my freedom. I am JenWa. That is who I am now. And I make my own decision now. I did not flee one master to find another.”

“I know,” Corwyn answered, “you would fight with me, if you had the choice.” They all nodded their heads in response as the whip continued to flick from side to side.

“So help me Corwyn,” Lak’shmi growled to him, her whip snicking on the floor, “they came, to your aid, to grant ME freedom! Do not take thei

[Misty]

[XIII] Elf Leap

Lak’shmi and Corwyn hid in the woods outside Ashabenford again, waiting for cover of darkness. This time they spoke not the common tongue, but the language of their hearts and bodies. Time held no meaning, the rain held no meaning, only the communion of their souls, until they tired. They huddled tight together under her Shadow cloak, him in Reverie, and her sleeping lightly.

“Lak’shmi.”

She burrowed her head into his shoulder, smiling in anticipation.

“Lak’shmi, meet me. Alone. Do not rouse him.”

A scowl replaced the happy smile from before. The Voice. The Voice from long before in the woods, when she only pretended to love Corwyn. It spoke in her head, knew where she was and what she had been doing. He probably watched, she sneered. Slowly slipping from Corwyn’s embrace, she hurriedly pulled a robe over her head. She slid through the shadows of early morning, anger pulling the shadows around her. A figure in orange and yellow robes turned away, commanding her to follow.

He knew her, everything about her. He knew of the demons chasing her, the yathrin from Skullport, her secret joy in murder and thirst for blood. He knew her greatest weakness now, and gave her the Demon’s Choice: serve or die, but with hellish variants. Corwyn would suffer horribly, no matter her choice. If she served, there was a chance they could leave the Dale together and whole. If she refused, he would die, tortured and broken before her eyes, and after she would be enslaved, tortured and hanged. His voice droned on about reward and punishment, but she paid it no mind, save when necessary to repeat his words.

As with Gortalix so many years before, she chose servitude to remain with her love. He bound her to him, not in the way of the Demon Prince, but by lifting the inside of his wrist to her lips, a small cut teasing her senses. Since leaving the Dale with Corwyn last time, she had not tasted one drop of another’s life. She bit, hungrily drawing more than the small cut would give. Power tingled in her mouth as he pulled his hand away long before she was finished. He led her to a young woman, bound and gagged, a gift to slake her thirst. Without prelude, Lak’shmi whipped her once, snapping her neck, then fell to drinking from the wound.

A mere pint later, she stumbled away, blood coating her chin and robes. The owner of the Voice cruelly laughed as she peeled out of her robes, tossing them over the body. He pulled her standing by the chin, and licked her clean of blood. Hate kept her from reacting too favorably to his pretense at sensuality. He finished with a warning to remain silent, then disappeared. Lak’shmi returned to Corwyn’s embrace, thanking Shar he was still in Reverie


“It is night, Lak’shmi. I think now would be a good time to get ready to travel. I was thinking that maybe under cover of night we can sneak through the town. I will see if I can leave some of my things with Glim ”
“Can we not stay? In town, with a bed?” she asked, biting her lower lip and writhing against him.

“It will be a bit... mmph” She interrupted his answer, distracting with a kiss. “It will be a bit more dangerous this time, Lak. It will have to be a brief trip through town, then we can leave.”

“Really?” she asked flippantly. “Oh. We will be okay.” Brazen smile, slight wiggle. Oh please Shar we must stay, make him stay, do not make me tell him why.

“Leave for our journey, as we talked about,” he kissed her forehead as It’s laughter rang in her head. She forced a smile, looking away. He asked after her, and she insisted she was fine. A numbing sadness floated through her skin as the ruse worked. They took the coster to Shadowdale Village, Lak’shmi huddled in the familiar corner, cloaked in shadows. Corwyn thought her extra cautious when she cringed and made herself even smaller, rather than the Voice: “I reward equally. Leave and you have no reward.” As if that was why I agreed, she sneered into her cloak.

Once in the Village, they dodged an inquisitive pixie, some friends of his, and a venerated elf before they reached the boarding house. Safely tucked away in a room like precious contraband, Corwyn bade her lie still and silent until he returned. He had a few errands to care for before leaving. As she prayed he would indeed leave her, the Voice returned.

“I am coming to you, pet.” Her stomach did not finish churning before he arrived, in the middle of the little room, maddeningly arrogant. “Do you wish to stay?” She answered in the affirmative, they both knew the lie.

“I am not leaving, as per my original agreement,” she sneered, trying to remain calm in the fury he provoked.

“You are going to stay here while he leaves?” He studied her face, disbelieving. He stepped close, grabbing her hair and pulling her head sharply to expose her neck. Waves of anger coursed through her as he licked her neck in sensual mockery. He pushed her head away with a warning, “I give you a space of time for now. When I call you will come. Won't you?” She gave a scowling affirmative. “Good. Oh, and,” the mocking teacher returned, and she hated him all the more. “Don't be too hard on the boy. He can not take your passion like I can.” He disappeared, the room clouding with her silent fury.

An hour later, four light taps at the door signaled Corwyn’s return. He entered, happy, excited, full of hope. She forced her stomach calm and smiled to him, listening. He spoke with his friends, one of whom might be able to give her refuge in a small town, contingent only on two things from her: to be good of heart and serve a good deity. Again, doom covered her heart. Strife, mayhem, secrets, death, Shar. Lak’shmi quietly feared she would vomit.

“Corwyn, it was you who told me not to enter a Tyrran temple. I've done things,” her voice trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken. He mentioned his friend’s desire to use a spell on her to divine her heart, and despair bloomed. How could she mislead the spell?

“Illyana carries some weight in this town. I cannot ignore her request easily, though I would, if I thought it would place you in harm.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, smiling softly. “If you do not wish to, I will tell Alaelsar, and we will leave immediately; then I will speak to Lord Ricpeth.” She fearfully asked how the spell worked, admitting she did not wish to undergo the test. “I do not know its full nature, Lak. But I do not see any good that it will do, except perhaps after meeting you in person, Illyana might decide to lend some small help regardless.”

He talked more of the meeting, and possible outcomes. She agreed to meet with Illyana, on condition she would not suffer spells. Alaelsar cast invisibility on her, then bade her run out of town. She did, skittish and fearful, the rabbit again in a den of dogs. She heard nothing but His Voice: “if you chose a life of power over life and death you will thwart this meeting. Make it look good. Make him work for their trust; that his word will get you acceptance at another time.”

Outside the Village, she relaxed some, though Corwyn’s hopeful demeanor began to grate her nerves. Not only did she know how the meeting would end, but she was to guarantee it. They neared the top of the hill, Lak’shmi trying not to shake too much as she approached the friend, Illyana. She was of the diseased yellow elf variety, only far more pleasing to the eye. Though her great beauty might cause others to think they were in love with her, it merely instilled more fear into Lak’shmi.

“Have Corwyn told you?” she asked in a heavily accented, lilting common. She nodded, still trembling while Corwyn trying to speak on her behalf. “You do understand,” she answered with a pleasant smile, “that I have very hard to trust. Will you allow me to use a spell, to seek you mind, and allow me to be sure of your truth?”

Corwyn interrupted before Lak’shmi answered. “Illyana, will the spell, cause pain? Because we know, what the results will be, most likely, as I have said.” Lak’shmi demured, trying to get out of the spelltest with grace when Corwyn’s question cut through. “What exactly will the spell do?”

“I will dominate her mind.”

While they continued to talk, Lak’shmi’s shaking fright blocked out all sounds. Dominate her mind. Dominate. Her. Mind. The stunning yellow elf’s face suddenly stretched, long tentacles growing from her mouth as she eagerly slurped at Lak’shmi. Tears fell freely as she babbled in a child-voice. “No. Not my mind. Not like the Flayers. No.”

“I will do it if you will allow me,” she slithered warmly at Lak’shmi.

“Then you are just like them! The Flayers!” She turned pleading eyes to Corwyn. “Corwyn, not my head. Please Corwyn, not my head!” The elf tried to make her calm, but Lak’shmi’s panic was too great. Illyana held to her promise, and left them alone on the hill, Corwyn trying to soothe her fears. After much time, she calmed, and quietly spoke. “Corwyn, we have much to discuss; and soon. Do you. Do you remember, last time I was here? The Voice?”

“The voices. Yes. Why?” He fixed her with an inquisitive look, and she explained, exaggerating the pain of failure to force him to understand the situation. She spoke of the boarding house room, and her instructions. She quietly begged him to leave her, go somewhere safe, anywhere, until she could break free. He yelled at first, cursing at the sky. When he looked into her wide frightened eyes, he forced himself calm, holding her tight.

“Lover's Leap,” he spoke softly into her hair. “We stand on Elf Leap. This place, so I am told,” he smiled wistfully, “two elven lovers were trapped here by enemies. Swarms of them. There was no way out, they were surrounded. Rather than surrender and despair, they chose to leap off the edge, together, their hands clasped. They would not be parted, even in death, Lak’shmi.” He rose, slowly pulling her up with him, holding her tight. “I will not let you jump alone. I will not abandon you now, after all we have been through, and seen. I do not believe it coincidence, that we stand here, of all places, now. I will not leave you.” They held the other tight for a time, then lay together in the grasses of Elf Leap.

They spent the next cycle speaking lightly of their worlds, he seemed genuinely interested in Skullport, and looked upon her with renewed admiration when she spoke of Undermountain. Corwyn’s three close friends visited, bringing food and wine for the exiled pair. Corwyn tried to tell them of Lak’shmi’s new master, but she stopped him. After they left, she explained that it was for their safety that they do not know of her plight. Their plight, he corrected her. They walked and lightly talked in the forest, Corwyn leading her to a cave where she could hide.

As he showed her the joys of frolicking in the forest, the Voice laughed in her head again. She forced a smile, making herself enjoy the moment, despite the ugly flaw ringing in her ears. They reached the old abandoned mine, still giddy from frolicking, when she turned to him, lust in her eyes. He pretended to protest, a deep throaty laugh resonating through their kiss.

Someone clapped, causing Lak’shmi and Corwyn to separate immediately with blushing curses before seeing the source of the noise. It was the owner of the Voice. Corwyn swore, the Voice sounded amused. When he leered at Lak’shmi, Corwyn’s anger exploded. He pulled out his sword, ready to die fighting for Lak’shmi’s freedom. His death would not free her, did he not see? She begged for him to put away the sword. The Voice laid down the rules for Corwyn: do not interfere, or he would not see Arvandor in death. He dissipated with a final taunt, “Maybe I will check on JenWa.” Corwyn gave Lak’shmi a hasty kiss goodbye before running to town to check on JenWa.

Again, in her head it spoke, “If others are involved, Corwyn will be punished for your failing. You will be instructed as to your allies when the time comes. For now, it is you two. Alone.” She fell asleep huddled in a corner, frightened and alone, haunted with dreams of Illithids and whips.

She woke to sounds of a frightened male. The Voice brought another snack, and bade her play with it a little before feeding. She pretended to seduce the male, lying him down, slithering on top and kissing his neck, before biting sharply. He thrashed and wailed as she drank, blood coating her face and neck. When she shoved herself off him, the Voice asked if it was enough for her. She fixed him with a drunken grin. He set to cleaning her in his way, and she simply closed her eyes, a small part of her enjoying it. He grilled her on her allegiances again, her anger killing the small pleasure she felt. Again she answered properly, avoiding punishment yet full of hate. He asked her what she wished, her temper dictating one thing: wanton bloodlust.

He teleported her to an encampment of kobolds, not ten minutes later they were an encampment of corpses. He tended her wounds in his way, insidiously probing the pain in her heart she wished to forget with the deaths.

“If I asked you, would you kill him?” the Voice asked between cleaning her.

“I cannot. I would sooner feed in front of him, than kill him.” She hung her head, waiting for his anger. He only asked why. “I am weak. I love him.” She winced, waiting for the slap. He continued in his slow tortuous way, and she answered honestly at first.

“You would die for him? You realize he will bring you death.” She answered a simple affirmative. “Then why stay when I can give you power over death? That battle was but a sampling of what I have planned for you. but I will not give it if you cannot turn on all save me.”

“I crave it, I desire it... with him by my side. I can hurt him. I cannot kill him.”

“He is as likely to become like you as you are to become like him. You tried that already and failed.” He did not need to sneer to show his contempt for her heart. “If you do anything that could displease me or jeopardize what is going on when I am not in front of you, he will die. Painfully. In front of your eyes.” He watched her resignation, then tested her again. “Why do you serve me?” She stuttered answered she thought he wished to hear, but again, they both knew the lies. He demanded again, “Why?!?”

“Because I do not wish to die to a hangman's noose!” Oh Shar, kill me now. “I serve you. Only you. Only you can keep me alive in this Dale.” He teased her again, asking her why she did not simply leave. “You tempt me. Is that really a way out?”

“No.” She numbly nodded in resignation, as he continued to pretend kindness. “He is more likely to live without you, you know. Your love is poison to him.”

“I know,” she whispered, praying for the courage to suicide.

He spoke with a sickeningly sweet lilt. “I know where you could find one to share power. Who would not judge you for your ‘faults’, but would embrace them and celebrate in them with you. Would that please you?”

“In time, it would,” she quietly spoke, unable to convince herself she spoke true. “But I desire Corwyn for the here and now.” He dragged the body out of the dirt, altering it to look like Corwyn while he mocked her.
“There he is. Have him. Take him.” She objecting, citing it was not him, but he persisted in mocking. “Pleasure him.” She refused while he voice gained in anger. “Did I ask?” She continued stuttering objections while he made the body walk around. “There. He lives after a fashion.”

“I will not bed a corpse!” she shrieked. “NO! It is not him!” The body burst in a puff of dust as he scolded her.

“Do as you have been told. Keep him in line. If you or he jeopardize my work, intentionally or not, one of you will pay. Or maybe both. If you wish what I have given and will give you will obey. If you wish pain and suffering you will not. Personally, I would rather give you power.” As he spoke, he pulled her robe open, caressing a breast before biting, slowly drawing on her blood. When he finished, he put his wrist in front of her mouth, waiting. She bit hard, drawing hungrily of the power in his blood, hating with each drop she swallowed. He licked his wrist, closing the wound, then spoke in a taunting sing-song.

“Oh and pet? He would kill you.”

“I know.”

******************************************************************

[XIV] Twisted

Lak’shmi shaded her face as she settled on the blanket by the lake. The sun stung her eyes, lighting the world in too bright display. The birds seemed too loud in their chirping, even the flowers smelled overfragrant.

“It is too bright here, isn't it?” Corwyn asked in his lilting common, concern creasing his smooth face.

“I will get accustomed to it,” she gently lied. “It just takes time.” Three years on the surface, and still she longed for the perpetual dark of her home.

“Lak’shmi,” his grave tone warning of serious issues. Again. She sighed as he continued. “I almost decided to speak with the Lord Ricpeth yesterday. I was planning on doing that when you were safely away from town, so you would be in no danger if he did not react favorably.”

“You do not think they will hang you for traitor?” How can he be so naive?

“Maybe he will,” he continued, resolute and full of infernal hope. “He knows you were here once before, I believe I told you already. I was in the Tower of Ashaba, but he did not seem to notice me, while he spoke with others about the Emerald Springs village. If I tell him, I may risk hanging, and you being captured; but perhaps he will grant us a chance to show that we mean no harm to the town.” How can I be seen as meaning no harm? She stared at her hands as he resolutely continued. “That is what Nicha suggested. If so, then we will have one less threat to fear, that this fiend threatened us with.” He finally stopped to look upon her, foolish hope contorting he features.

“Nicha wants you to tell him?” She had delivered a letter to Nicha’s doorstep only a tenday before. She was His target, one of a few Lak’shmi was specifically forbidden to kill. The grasses grew brighter, more fragrant as her eyes watered from the pain of his hope.

“Yes. She counseled me to do so, a while ago.” Despite his many protests over how he would never hurt her, it became even clearer that he would indeed kill her with good intentions.

“You do what you think best, Corwyn,” she quietly spoke as she stood, smoothing her robes.

“You have done nothing yet to harm the town,” his voice gained pitch as hope gushed from him, blinding him to her dark mood.

“No. I have not,” she firmly lied. “Do it. You must try, yes?”

“I haven't decided, Lak; and I do not want to do this against your will.”

“One or both of us will likely die from it, but go ahead. You must try,” she took a deep breath, forcing herself calm. “I love you, Corwyn. I would murder all the Dale to keep you with me, but that would displease you. So I will not. You do what you think best, and we will handle the consequences.” He began to object, but she continued before losing her will to speak. “I would die for you, Corwyn. I would kill for you. I will not hurt you anymore, if I can help it. You do whatever you think best. I will do what I may, within my abilities, to neither harm you nor myself.”

“We are in this together, Lak’shmi,” he spoke quietly, her words finally sinking into his understanding. “I am not going to do it, unless you are with me in agreement. Do you not understand? Telling him may be necessary, if we are going to stay here together.”

“You know what I am willing to do to keep you near, some things abhorrent to your senses!” frustration mingling with her sadness. Why do we have to fight so much? “My plan is to serve until I find a weakness. You wish to talk to your lord. These two ideas will not work together.”

“What if he asks you to do,” his face contorted in the sunlight, “abhorrent things? You would do them, just to protect me?”

“Yes. To protect you.”

“Lak’shmi,” he faced her, pain and disgust hunching his shoulders. “I do not... I do not want such protection.”

“Then tell your lord about me,” she spoke quietly, his revulsion making her sick to her stomach. “Do it.” Deliver me unto my Goddess’ embrace.

“So you will stay here and await his next order?” his voice rose as his fists clenched and unclenched. “Await for him to have his way with you, to be his tool. To be his TOOL!! Gods! I cannot abide the thought of you being a SLAVE AGAIN!” He slammed his fist into a nearby tree, but neither noticed.

“Did you not hear me?” she screamed at him. “Did you not hear me, Corwyn?!? I said to go ahead and tell your lord! and if it does not work out, we will flee, like you wish!”

“I do not understand,” he quietly spoke, shaking his head and holding his bloody hand. “I can see that is not what you wish. Even if you tell me otherwise, I can see that is not what you want.”
“I cannot have what I want.”

“You can ask.”

“You cannot do it.”

“You,” he stopped, comprehension choking his throat. “You are right. I cannot.”

“So the next best thing, is to do what YOU wish. Talk to your lord, your Nicha. Plan our escape and pray he cannot cross the border.” She turned to look over the lake again, her cheeks wet and shoulders shaking.

“FINE! BE a SLAVE!” she flinched at his sudden yell, but did not face him. “GO BACK TO WHAT YOU ARE COMFORTABLE WITH! What a waste of time.” He spat, looking upon her with utter contempt. “Half... DROW!” He then turned on his heel and walked away. When the sounds of his angry footfalls could no longer be heard, she dropped to the grass, curled in a ball, her sleeve muffling her sobs.

She fell asleep in the light, but woke in the dark of a cave. The Voice returned, crooning, mocking, calling to her. Soothing her mind with gentle entreaties, promises that she was more than just a halfdrow slave. His soothing words only increased her hatred of him and the Dale. He thinks he can flatter me?

He brought her a gift, a bath of human and elven blood. The scent teased her, made her hungry to feed. He told her to undress, to enjoy the gift. As she put a toe in, he asked what gift she would give in return. Hatred steamed her own blood, her mind twisting to think through the revulsion. It was not a gift. She dutifully asked what he wished, and he told her to think for herself. I want to kill you. Lacking any means to do what she truly wished, she served. When finished, she slipped into the still warm pool, inviting her to forget her servitude.

As she crouched to her neck in blood, her vision blurred a moment, the drab cavern shifting into a luxurious bathhouse with steaming water, beautiful attendants, and Corwyn by her side. Lak’shmi drowned reason for the fantasy. She was with Corwyn again, happy and playful, in the scented waters of the bathhouse. Nothing else mattered.


*****************************************************************

[XV] Death

Lying upon the soft mosses of the forest floor, Lak’shmi slept. Memories of the caravan raids faded to dreams of Corwyn, his pale face and eager blue eyes begging her to run away with him. She scowled in her sleep, angry at having to explain again why running away would not fix anything. He grew angry again, called her a halfdrow whore and ran away to throw himself off Elf Leap alone. Again she fell down, crying. Dream turned reality, yet her tears were real to both.

Before she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, Karadane spoke, gently asking her desires. As Corwyn planned a suicide, she wished to kill. He asked after her appetite, for she drank nothing in the previous tenday.

“Not feed,” she growled at him, dangerously tempted to attack. “KILL!” He asked her what she wished to kill, and how many, and an echo of a lover long past came from her voice, “Indiscriminate slaughter!” He smiled at her in approval, then teleported her to a dark temple. Fifty elven children stood in a trance, waiting for her. She drew her twin blades, lilac eyes glowing with malevolence as He cast protections upon her. She slithered to the children, gutting one. His scream broke the spell’s hold over the others. The others attacked as she sliced their throats, dancing in gruesome display before the audience of one. When the last two fell, Lak’shmi turned to him, coated in sweet blood, her chest heaving as she shrieked, “MORE!” Fifty more ran through a just-opened door; she gutted and sliced and shrieked until her spirits soared. He asked if she wished to feed, she spat and cursed a negative. For the first time in his service, he silently took her back to her spot in the woods and left her there.

Two months passed since Corwyn first called her a halfdrow. She dutifully served the Karadane, hunting and raiding and feeding in the night. She bore it, for Corwyn did not suicide but would instead visit her on occasion. She savored the visits, full of love and promise and passion. He did not ask after her service, and she did not tell him. What need to speak of feeding and balors when they could swim and frolic instead?


Another night fell, like so many others. She stirred in her sleep, enjoying one last dream before waking. One of many she enjoyed of late: her and Corwyn in intimate embrace. She stirred in the grasses, knowing she would soon wake and trying so very hard not to. His name escaped her lips, and the hands suddenly vanished leaving wind to tease her exposed skin. Lak’shmi shivered. Wait. Exposed skin, the hands were not dream. She listened; the woods seemed quiet, but not the total silence of a stranger nearby. Her eyes slowly opened, the moonlight glinting off something by her nose. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she hastily dressed, annoyed at whoever undressed her in her sleep. She reached out to the glinting, a foreign thing in the forest, and pulled it close. Her blood froze as she examined it: it was the ring she gave to Corwyn in Westgate. The ring he cherished, for it came from her.

“Corwyn?” Only echoes of his name answered her. She called again, concerned. Why would he give it back? Why would he secretly give it back, then leave? She called again, frightened and panicking. She knew the obvious answers to those questions, but refused to believe them unless he uttered the words himself. She heard a male voice a short distance away and ran to it. Not Corwyn, but maybe he saw him? She demanded to know where the blue elf was, but the man was confused and scared. He started running away, but a snap of her whip on the back of his neck stole his pain of living. She kicked the body, angrily screaming for Corwyn when the Karadane walked to her.

“Where?” she shrieked at him. “DAMN YOU! Where is he?!?” Her vision blurred for a second, the body turned into a likeness of Corwyn as the He calmly stated that she killed him.

“Look again at that form,” he calmly spoke in mock-sympathy. “It is him. You have his ring.”

“No. It cannot be him,” she shook her head in denial, tears welling in her eyes and threatening to pour forth. “I cannot hurt Corwyn. I never could; not like that.” She stared as the facade faded back into the unknown man from before.

“But that is the state he was in,” He spoke firmly, all pretenses gone. She screamed her denial as he continued. “He is no more.”

“NAU! You killed him!” She fell to the ground, still unable to even hit Him. He shook his head in denial as he tossed her Corwyn’s ripped and bloodied armor, and then his broken sword.

“I would have incinerated him if he tried to kill me. I did not do this.”

“You did it! You had it done to him! It is the same! You killed him!” She continued to shriek and babble, hugging the broken sword close, her tears pouring over it. “You killed him! You hated that I loved him, so you killed him!”

“No,” he continued dispassionately. “They went to the cave, he and Noril. It seems curiosity has a price. It really is a shame, we needed him.” Without warning, he teleported her to the cave where Corwyn died. In a near-dry pool of blood, lay his shredded arm, bits skin and hair, and his dented helm. She fell wailing to the pool as Karadane watched. Her tears mixed with the blood, rewetting and diluting. He asked if she wished to see what killed him. She refused, for it did not matter what killed him, He was responsible. He sent Corwyn to his death. She sadly picked up the helm, her tears filling it as she put what was left of his arm and strands of his delicate pale blue hair in it. The hair she would run her fingers through when losing herself in his kind blue eyes. “I wanted you to not put his life above yours, Lak’shmi.”

“WELL IT BLOODY WELL ISN'T NOW, IS IT?” He quietly, infuriatingly agreed as she cried. “He was why. Why I agreed to help you. To live. Free from a cage.”

“And you still may.”

“There is no point now,” she whispered, preparing to walk into the town and accept death. “Why bother. All I wanted was him. All I wanted.” Her whispers became whimpers, tears ever falling.

“I hate to tell you this,” he quietly interjected, “but he would have gotten you killed, eventually, taking risks like this one.” She shrieked her lack of caring as he calmly lectured her. “All you want is him? I think not.”

“Xas! What do you know?” she spat.

“You were willingly giving yourself to my plans, thinking he was already dead. You wanted power. Admit it.”

“NAU!” shrieking her denial again. “I saw him! I slept with him!”

Karadane shook his head, his mock-sympathy returning. “That was not him. Dreams, all dreams.” Her mind grew dull a moment before she understood. Visions. From Him. It was probably He who took Corwyn’s place in her dreams. She turned away from the pool of blood, ready to vomit but could not. All those dreams, all those visions. His hands undressing her, not the elf’s. He continued to chide her on her weakness and foolishness, but her ears refused to hear the words. Flayer. Despair and hate warred for control of her will.

“I HATE YOU!”

“You hate the truth. Not me.”

“WHAT TRUTH?!? I do not even know dreams from truth now!” She stopped shrieking, speaking calmly again. “I hate you.”

“No.”

“I HATE YOU!” shrieking again, pounding her fists on his chest.

“If you hated me, hated you that much,” he quietly spoke, wrapping his arms around her in gentle embrace, “You would try to kill me. That either I would die, or you would. You hate the truth.”

She buried her head into his shoulder, wiping her nose on his robes. “What makes you think I will not seek your death? You killed him. You let the balors use me, you killed him.” Hate won the war over her soul, though it was no effort to hide it under the despair. Usstan orn elgg dos.*

“I will show you.” Again teleported, this time to a hill overlooking the town. She spoke softly of a dream she had, while sleeping off the pain of the balors’ abuse, watching the town burn in the moonlight from where they stood. Karadane spoke of the town trapping Corwyn, planning to hang him.

“If they hanged him,” she whispered through her tears, “I would kill them all. But they did not. You did it. You made him come.”

“No, I did not. Stand.” He commanded, and she obeyed with a sneer. “Look at me. Look into my eyes and I will show you.”

“What will you show me?” she yelled into his unflinching face. “More dreams? Visions? HOW do I know they are true? You let the balors in, how do I know?!? I hate you.”

“No. You hate that you were weak and loved a fool.” Her sobs choked out any venomous retort to his hateful calm. He stroked her hair with gentle entreaty, “Get it out, you need a clear head to see the truth.”

“I HATE YOU!” she pulled back, glaring and screaming again, punctuating each outburst with a stomp of her foot. “I HATE HIS FOOLISHNESS! I HATE! I HATE EVERYTHING! I HATE THAT TOWN! I HATE YOU!!”

“If you saw this town burn, you can make it happen. I can help you make it happen. They sought his life, not me. I needed him.” You dare lie to me now?

“Then bring him back You have power.”

“I cannot. He would be but a puppet.”

“Bring him back! Whole! Entire!”

“No! It cannot be done.” He almost looked sorry for her, but she knew it was an act.

“Make them do it!” she pointed to the town.

“They cannot do it,” his fake sympathy gave way to irritation. “He is gone! Forever! There is nothing left to bring back. He was eaten and shat out.”

“LIES! Lies, there are ways,” she fell whimpering and sobbing before cursing the sky. “Corellon, dos trelao shu d' natha yah! Ele ukta? Ele xunus dos plynn ukta tarthe dal uns'aa, dos kenoth, nempori plithou lotha VITH! Usstan PHLITH DOS"**

“Yes,” he crooned in approval. “Hate Corellon. Hate Shadowdale.”

“I hate you, too, you know,” she sneered at him, her mind beginning to plan his demise. “I hate everything.”

“Fine. I see you need to relearn a lesson,” he continued dogmatically over her vitriol. “Pain is power, strength. Why waste it on tears when you could be using it to destroy that town?” Here he pointed to the town again, trying to shift all the blame upon it. “That town that put him in a cage of sorts, that lead him to that cave, and his own death. Why?”

“Give me his lord to kill NOW!” He stalled, asking her who she spoke of. His feigned ignorance fueled her loathing. “The one Corwyn wanted me to see, Rik-something. His lord. Bring him here so I can kill him.”

“I cannot. No. I will not,” he smoothly corrected himself, maintaining his position of perceived power. She shrieked her question, he answered in his infuriatingly calm manner. “Because if he is missing, that town will not stop until they find you and everyone else working for me. They will kill them all; and we will not have our revenge upon that town.”

“DO YOU THINK I REALLY CARE RIGHT NOW? I WANT TO KILL! NOW!”

“No,” he denied her demands, chiding her for foolishness again. She cradled the ring in her hands, sobbing and repeating how she hated him. As he spoke of his grand plan, she rose and walked towards the town. He finally ceased talking of his plans, instead asking where she walked.

“I wish his friends to know he is dead.” He stopped her, citing that his friends were under geas to not speak to her or suffer horribly. “I will not speak, then. Let me DO this!” He agreed, granting her this one kindness, and she thanked him.

“You thank the one you hate?” he asked, disbelieving her emotions. Good, good.

“I serve you,” she explained to her dense master. “You could deny my request. That you did not makes it a boon. I thank you for that.”

“Where is the place I want you?” He changed the subject, trying to instill a desire within her. She replied with the truth, he wished her by his side. “Do you think I have changed my mind?”

“No,” she answered plainly, her tears dried on her face. She watched the sunrise as she finished answering, “I think you wait for me to desire you still. Yet, even if I do not, I'm still a decent servant am I not?”

“Why would I do something to make you hate me and wish to kill me, when I would put you in a place where you could kill me? Do you think I am that much a fool?” XAS!

“You talk in my head, and twist my memories. I cannot even fathom the twists in your plans, so I will not try to fathom your motives.”

“Think simple,” he condescended to her. “for the most complicated things often are. Why would I put you where you could kill me? Why would any being like me risk that? They would not.”

“I do not know what to think. Or feel. I hate.” She held the ring in a tight fist, vowing to destroy Karadane. He teleported her back to her spot in the woods, lecturing, chiding, teaching her.

“Here again, you will wait as you have.”

“Unless the balors take me again,” she sullenly replied.

“Be more careful now,” he ignored her barbed remark. “They patrol these roads more often and stronger because of your raids.” She sneered as he handed her a ring for protection. It would prevent anyone from scrying her location. Anyone. Grim satisfaction joined her hate as her goddess whispered in her ear: Hurt him, Lak’shmi. You know you can. She curled in a ball on the forest floor, covering her face. She thought of Corwyn again, sadness pulling the shadows around her while she grieved.

“I will return for you,” his false kindness returning. “You will be safe; unless you are foolish.”

“I am the queen of foolish.”









*I will kill you.

For the rest:
http://grey-company.org/Maerdyn/resourc ... &lang=Drow

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[XVI] Sorrow

A month passed since Lak’shmi left Corwyn’s remains on the road, tripping Alaesar and JenWa. She barely ate, refused to drink of life, sullenly serving Karadane through poorly executed raids. She grew weak, too thin in her grief. As with most days, she once again lay on the floor of a cavern, taking no notice of a small spider crawling up her arm. She felt the now-familiar crackle in the air that preceded Karadane’s arrival, eyes barely flickering in response.

“Get up!” he commanded, irritation sparking.

“Xas, Jabbuk,” she dully obeyed.

“I do not want a witless servant, I can make those! What do you want?” he demanded of her.

“I want to die,” she numbly whispered. He harshly pulled her hair, exposing her neck. She stretched her neck under his nose, willing him to drain her. His angry hiss cut short before he pierced her flesh, drinking steadily, waiting for her to change her mind. Her body felt too heavy, and she smiled. He sat, pulling her to his lap, still drinking. She dug her feet into the rock, pushing into him. Not as enjoyable as her Devil’s Kiss in Selgaunt, but it would do. Her eyes unfocused as a Shadow descended, a blissful smile faltering at her lips. Still he drank, until her legs weakened completely. Her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps as the Shadow seductively whispered: Loss, Lak’shmi. Hurt Him.

A barely audible hiss slipped from her lips, “Sstop. Pleasse. Sstop. I want to live.”

“I knew you had the will to live,” he gloated, letting her slide to the cavern floor. He motioned to a corner as a dazed child walked forward. Biting into the child’s neck, he bent the wound over Lak’shmi’s dry mouth, allowing the blood to drip over her lips. She licked eagerly, until strength returned to her arms and she pulled the child close, draining him completely. Strengthened some, she growled to Karadane, eyes wide with crazed hunger. “MORE!” Another child came forth and nourished her. He looked fondly upon her as she drunkenly giggled. Never before did the life of another provide nourishment. He promised her she could have it forever, when she proved herself worthy to be his equal.

They resumed the raids and hunting, Lak’shmi shoving her hate away, making the shell she became desire the undead archmage and all the power he promised. He wanted passion, she showed him passion. He wanted her to want power, she showed his a timid desire for such; so that he often spoke of what she may have. Many a twilight evening spent in his embrace, then released to hunt. He wished her for an equal, and she slowly showed she wished it, too.

When the town spoke of nothing but Karadane and Lak’shmi, he reluctantly bade her leave the Dale for a year, until the townspeople forgot. He wished to offer a safe haven for the Nightmasks, while she still held an obligation to her patron, Lady Vhammos. He pinned a symbol of his protection to her armor, hoping to deter the vampires of Westgate from claiming Lak’shmi.

After a last night of the passion he craved, she left for Selgaunt. At the snowy border, she bought furs from the outpost lest she freeze. A melancholy descended upon Lak’shmi with every step closer to the city. A comforting Shadow hovered close, but it was not able to dispel her sadness. Though Malar and Cyric ruled tree by town here, to Lak’shmi it was someplace different. Selgaunt: City of Loss. Gabriel’s Kiss. Corwyn’s Desire. Treskon’s Innocence. The Shadow followed her to the House, where she learned of yet more loss: Darklady Anais had fallen. Sorrow reigned.

She spoke with the elven faithful who desired to be the new Darklord, Nyeer. She told him of her hunger, and her duty to the Lady Vhammos; and gladly accepted his offer to travel with her. He brought a fledgling faithful along as they silently left for Westgate.

Westgate had changed little in the 18 months since her imprisonment. Her patron spoke of the strange priestly murders currently plaguing the city, and wished her to find the cause. In two weeks she learned very little of the murders; instead she discovered Nyeer’s penchant for garlic soup while she began drinking from the acolyte. Soon after, the garlic elf died, adding to the urgency of her task, though she had no new leads to follow. Many a frustratingly quiet night she spent reading in the Black Boot, trying to suppress her urges to drink. She had to remain on her best behavior, for the authorities still watched her.

“You Lak'shmi?” an easily forgettable human addressed her. She nodded once, her eyes boring into his. “This is for you.” He handed over a parchment. She accepted, waiting for him to leave. “I believe I just delivered a letter to you, lass.” She thanked him, still not sure why he lingered, until he held out his hand. “Errand boy's gotta make a livin'.”

“Whoever sent you should pay you,” she calmly answered. He finally left, cursing. She unrolled the parchment, and scowled at the unremarkable script.

Meet me on the first hillock to the southwest of the city. That is, if you want insight into what is about to happen.

No signature. She growled a curse, then left the tavern. Yes, she wanted insight, but strange meetings outside town seemed a phenomenally bad idea. Easy to find, it was the only hill outside the city gates. She stopped to admire it a moment, several large red stones stood, all pointed to resemble fangs. She approached the top-most stone, scanning the area for a person, likely in shady cloak behind a odd rock.

a fluttering piece of parchment stuck to a stone caught her eye. She looked around, expecting someone, anyone nearby; but only the quiet of morning greeted her. She pulled the parchment, reading. Her hand suddenly trembled, her face paling to an ashen grey. She snarled, crumpling the note as she bent over, clutching her stomach, then falling to her side. Her head shook from side to side, lilac eyes staring unfocused in denial.

“Nau.”

“Nau.”

“Just a prank,” she began to tremble, head moving erratically from side to side.

“Nau.”

“Nau,” she tried to stop shivering, but only shook more.

“I am done,” she stood up, clutching her stomach as she stumbled to town.

“Nau.”

“Nau.”

“All I need is a bath,” unseeing eyes tried to focus on the Jolly Warrior.

“Nau.”

“NAU!”

The patrons gave wide berth to the babbling halfdrow, stumbling upstairs to her room, where she fell fully clothed into the bath. A knock forced her attention to the door. Her patron found her, desiring a report on Lak’shmi’s progress in the investigation. She blathered something as the room spun, and the Lady left. Lak’shmi remembered to undress and fell into the bath again, desperately scrubbing at her skin.

Another knock at the door brought her attention to the now cold bath. She hurriedly dressed, opening the door to Commander Wilkinson. He questioned her about what she knew of the murders, and she spoke plainly, if distracted. He mentioned how some in the city thought she was responsible, and she told him of the delivered note. He called the place the Hill of Fangs, and her stomach turned again. At his concern, she told him she ate something that made her ill. He quickly left, wishing her well. She stumbled to the bed, shivering, sweating, her still-pale hand holding the note from the hill:


You seek the one who murders the followers of your god. Then look no more.
I will find you when the time is right. I have returned for you.
~Corwyn~

[Misty]

[XVII] Confessions

Lak’smi woke with a groan. She wanted to forget the note with Corwyn’s name, forget the nightmares of blue elf zombies reaching out for her, but the fatigue in her muscles served as reminder. It had to be a cruel joke, it just had to be. Corwyn died over a year previous, beyond all hope of returning. Perhaps it was another with the same name. Perhaps is was another demon toying with her. Perhaps... perhaps... She tried to reason through the confusion. She looked down at her tight, uncooperative leathers. After a frustrated growl, she removed and twisted them right side out, then put them on. Breathing deep and clearing her head, she finished dressing and equipping her weapons.

He will find me. Nothing for her to do but sit and wait. She left her room for the common room of the Warrior, intent on finding a wine to slake her thirst. She closed the door, then turned to scan the room. Her eyes rested on one slender individual with pale blue hair, and her knees gave way. She fell sitting against the door, shaking her head and babbling, like the night before. Just as she began to chastise herself for flightiness, this individual turned at the noise, facing her with an apologetic smile.

Lak’shmi screamed. Horror, pain, rage, remorse, guilt all mingled in her throat as Corwyn looked upon her in pity. “WHAT TRICK IS THIS?!?”

“Lak’shmi,” he quietly spoke. Even the voice was the same, though a little sadder. “I have been waiting for you. It is me, Lak’shmi.” He smiled in his gentle way, holding a hand out to her.

“Do not touch me!” she shrieked, recoiling from him. “Nau! It cannot be! Nau! You are DEAD!” He agreed, stepping closer to her as she scrambled away, mindless of the others in the room. “Dead. I scooped what was left of you. Your sword... the broken sword...”

“I was killed,” he calmly answered, “while looking for you.”

“Nau nau,” her head still shook from side to side, emphasizing the irrational denial. “You went hunting. You died. I do not know what you are.”

“I came back,” he looked upon her sadly, the pity increasing. “Remember, when I came back for you here in Westgate? Remember when I came back for you in Selgaunt? I always came back for you. I have come back for you. Again.”

“Nau,” she focused on him through her tears, trying to understand. “This is a trick! What GAME is this? Who toys with me NOW?!?”

“Look at me,” again he stepped closer and she shrieked for him to step back. “Look at me!” he begged, ignoring the rapier in her hand, ignoring her shriek. “Look at me!” finally he saw her blade, then looking directly in her eyes. “I would let you cut me with it, yet again. If that is what it takes to prove–“ She shouted questions, her whole body trembling. “Listen to me, Lak’shmi, listen. I am back. Brought back by a power-” He stopped and closed his eyes.


“WHAT POWER?!? WHO TOYS WITH ME NOW?!?”

“It is me, Corwyn, damn it!” his voice rose a little, the familiar frustrated note confusing her more. “I am here, Lak'shmi! I am here! Does it matter so much now? Does it matter more than the fact that I am here?”

“It does matter! Demons! Devils! Fiends! It matters!” She fell into a ready stance, her shaking hand raised the rapier. “Step back, or I WILL strike! Explain!”

“Then strike,” he quietly answered. He stepped closer, his eyes locked to hers as he held his arms out. Strike, she did. She pierced his shoulder, waiting for him to fight back, but he did not. She pierced the other shoulder, and he only looked to her with sad eyes. She screamed at him to fight, piercing a thigh. “No. It is me, Lak’shmi. I will not fight you.” She pierced the other thigh, then turned away, sobbing. “I had to,” he answered with a small smile.

“Not why, Corwyn. How?”

“We should leave this place,” only now did he seem nervous, looking over the now empty room as his bleeding slowly stopped. “I will explain. Will you come with me? Please.” She agreed, weakly threatening him through her tears. He stepped closer to her again, and she shrank against the wall.

“Do not touch me,” she commanded through her tears. “Not until I know who and what you are.”

“Please, walk near me, then,” he sadly asked, and she agreed. He led her to a secluded area outside the city, smiling wistfully at her. “Your skill has improved.”

“Of course it has,” she spat. “I yet live and learn.”

“I am not your enemy.”

“I do not know what you are.”

“This seems as good a place as any,” he looked around for others, but no one was around. She coldly demanded how he returned to the living. He only looked sadly upon her. “You are more angry than the last time I saw you.”

“XAS I am angry! You DIED on me! Left me to find my way! I found it; and suddenly you are HERE?!?”

“You are angry, but still lovely as ever.” She growled in answer. “I thought for sure... I feared you would still be in the clutches of Karadane. But you are here, in Westgate! You must have escaped somehow.” She nodded, avoiding the subject. “I came back, because I could not stand the thought of you being held as a puppet by him.”

“That is why, I want to know HOW!” She yelled, stamping her foot petulantly.

“There are ways of bringing back the dead, even when their bodies are no more. You know this?” she affirmed she did, hating his friends again. “It takes a great act of a deity. I was brought back by one that-- He does not name himself. But he bids me, as his servant. That was the price for coming back. Coming back for you, Lak’shmi.” He looked to her with desperate hope, the same desperate hope she held for him when Karadane first bent her to service.

“I cannot be a puppet, but you can?” they changed positions, him a servant and her free. Mostly. She asked what he called his master, but he avoided answering. Derision pierced her confusion, but she pushed it away. “Why cannot you tell me? I can keep secrets, Corwyn. I follow Shar, remember?” He did not understand her meaning.

“Shar. You were about to burn her teachings.”

“In a faith where nothing matters,” she explained, frustrated that he was still avoiding her questions. “Do you really think that would make any difference? That was lives ago, Corwyn. Guess what? You DIED!”

“I see much has happened since I was,” he faintly smiled, trying to find a nice word for his absence. “gone. You are hardened as before. I am so sorry.”

“I had to survive,” she spat. “Without you. With only Karadane whispering in my ear.” He grew flustered at hearing the name of his enemy. Tears immediately welled in her eyes as she told him how she came to know he died. He apologised again, her heart softening. She asked if he would go to Shadowdale.

“I do what I am told to do,” pain and revulsion laced his words.

“Of course you do. I know that life, Corwyn! Who is your master?” He asked why she was angry with him, his own anger coloring his pale face. “Because I do not know that you are not a demon, fiend, or some construct! I am toyed with my so many. Who is it now?”

“I did not die intentionally, Lak’shmi,” he quietly spoke. “I died because I was looking for you. Desperately. Just before I died, Karadane,” he growled through gritted teeth, “He showed me things. It drove me into desperation! I tried to search for you with only Noril at my side.” His whole body shook at the memory as he descended to cursing in elven. She snarled in drow. They both stopped, looking each other over, each finally truly seeing the other’s changes.

“What in the hells are you, who do you follow, and what do you expect of me?” she begged in a whisper.

“It is me, Lak’shmi,” he stepped closer, arms spread to hold her. Body trembling, she stepped close. He wrapped his arms gently around her, whispering that she had to trust him. She continued to beg for answers, head buried in his chest.

“Why does it matter now? Why?” He pulled his head back to search her lilac eyes.

“If you will not tell me,” she began in a choked whisper, prepared to flee if he was still disgusted with her. “Then tell me this: what do you expect of me? what will I do if I stay with you? I am not-- I am NOT what you thought I was.”

“There are a lot of things you never got to tell me,” he sadly smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Because it would kill you to know,” she mumbled in his chest. He acknowledged that it would hurt the old Corwyn too much, but now? Now they had both changed. Her only protection in Westgate or Selgaunt came from the Sharrans. If she remained with Corwyn, she would have to abandon them, too; returning her life to that of outrunning her pursuers. “If we pick up where we left off, what do we do? How do we do it? Where do we live? All important questions!”

“If I must win your trust,” again he avoided answering, trying to play on her broken heart and its leaking emotions. “your heart all over again, then so be it!” He descended into another string of lilting curses.

“What in the hells?” she bit back her own harsh swearing, trying to make him understand. “Besides frolicking in the woods, what do we do? How do we live? Dammit Corwyn! I had a life! And once again it is all turned upside down!”

“Lak'shmi, look at me!” he held her shoulders, shaking her to emphasize his words. “I came back from the dead for you, and paid a price beyond what I should have! Because of you! And you tell me! You... tell me..” he shook his head despair replaced anger. “Have you changed that much, that it means nothing, that I have come back?”

“It is not nothing, Corwyn,” she screamed in return. “It changes everything! EVERYTHING! I am LOST now. AGAIN!” She fell against his chest, crying again. “Lost. I am lost again. After serving the Lady, I was going to settle in Selgaunt,” the lies still rolled so smoothly off her tongue.

“The lady? Shar? Nine Hells!” he growled, his fists clenching and unclenching. “Shar. I thought you were going to burn that damned book! You were about to burn it! I only stopped you for your own safety at the moment!” She asked him who he would have her serve. “Hells, Lak'shmi” again his voice rose in frustrated anger. “I do not know who any longer! I only know that the one I serve. I only know that I came back for you! Because of that, I must do what he says!”

“WELCOME TO SLAVERY, CORWYN!” His jaw clenched as he glared at her, she bit her tongue as she glared back. I am as insane as he, to think we would ever work. A single deep breath, then she quietly continued through the confusion. “If not Shar, then who? Without a god, I am a brick in Kelemvor's wall. Kelemvor - whose paladin wanted to kill me because I am half drow! You wish me to renounce Shar, what else do you wish of me? Tell me now!” he unsheathed his sword, ready to strike her though she did not yet notice. “I died when you did, Corwyn. Only now, you are here again, turning everything upside down and inside out. Again!”

He looked at the blade in his hands, nearly dropping it in horror. He asked, then begged her to stop. She boldly reached a hand out to him, the sword-point falling to the ground. “Lak'shmi,” he desperately held her hand, allowing the sword to fall away completely. “I would never hurt you. I do not know what came over me. Gods! Must it always be so difficult for us?” He smoothed her hair, holding her tight. “I expected... no I hoped... I hoped to find you one place or another; and rescue you. Somehow. and then,” his face darkened again, hard and unyielding. “I hoped that by returning, I could bring you hope.” He shook his head, nearly weeping for what was before confessing, “I have killed. Killed. In cold blood.”

“I do not care,” he continued, telling her of who he killed recently while she grabbed his hand. “I do not care! I have killed children.”

“Children?” Horror became defeated amusement as he hollowly laughed. “I see. A fine pair we are. Children and priests.”

“Who are you?” she gently asked, staring into his pale eyes. “I see some of the Corwyn I knew.”

“I am Corwyn Eskalas,” he stood tall as he spoke. “I was an elf soldier of Deepingdale. Then an adventurer. And now,” he choked. Uncertainty closing his throat as he looked into her eyes. “And now,” he whispered, bringing a hand to caress her face, “I have come back for you, Lak’shmi. That is the only sure thing I know. I do not know what or how much freedom I will have under my new master, Lak. But I will not let him come between us.” She lifted her face to him, he bent kiss her. All their pain, joy, rage, excitement returned crashing to the pair. Long they stood, kissing and crying in the sunlight outside Westgate.

They sank to the grass, as if the one kiss took more energy from them than their most passionate nights; he held her in his arms as they tried to figure out their future together. She told him how she wished to die after he did, and he chastised her for giving up hope. Sadly, inevitably, their conversation turned to Karadane. She explained that he let her go, desiring more from her than she could willingly give; but this time, Corwyn sensed she was not entirely truthful. He looked coldly in her eyes, demanding the entire truth from her.

“I gave him,” she stalled, shaking, knowing he might just pull his sword on her again. “You were dead! Gods! I gave him... me. I agreed to serve him, serve beside him, for my revenge.” He paled, she prepared to be slain. “My heart died with you. I gave him what was left.” He asked about the brooch on her armor, the dragon fang with a ‘K’ inscribed in it. She explained that it protected her from the vampires in Westgate. His whole body shook, but he did not strike her. He demanded to know why she needed protection from vampires.

“I... I,” she bit her lip, stammering. “I have a thirst, Corwyn. A hunger.” He shook, screaming at her to continue. “I had it before ever going to Shadowdale! Before I met you. Karadane knew of it.”

He grabbed her shoulders, but shook too much himself to hold her tight. “I do not understand,” he stammered. “What... you said you gave yourself to Karadane. What did you mean?”

“I gave him my loyalty, my body, and my blood.” He shook harder, his face paling as he doubled over, cluthing his stomach. “You were DEAD! EVERYTHING changed when I picked up your remains!” He continued to shake and cry out in his own agony. He fell to the ground writhing, then slowly stood, his features resigned. She called to him, but he did not hear. He mumbled about something he needed to do and walked away. She followed. He demanded to know why she followed.

“Because I love you still!” she shrieked at him. “Do not be an ass, Corwyn! You think I will let you walk out again?”

“You DARE?” he spat, his disgust with her thick. “You lie to me, you lied to me about Him! About everything! You gave yourself to Him! HIM!!!”

“You live now!” she yelled back. “You ask for the truth and walk away? Is that it?”

“I was dead. and I will die again soon. then you can find another undead creature to give yourself to, or perhaps, Samiir!” he spat at her, the glob falling at her feet as he cursed and swore at the sky. She followed him again, though less certain why. “Why are you following me? Go back to him Go back to your MASTER!”

“What do you want of me?” she pleaded. “Xas! I could be free; but I have nowhere to go. And you act like we cannot be together, so... GODS! I am confused!”

“You and I are no longer free. You were never free.” he sneered. “Free.”

“What can we have, Corwyn?” she continued, trying not to hear his hate.

“We?” His features twisted into more of a grotesque mockery of her.

“I see. there is no ‘we’.” She suppressed her tears, refusing to let the last he saw of her be a weeping wreck.

“You mean you and that blood sucking undead stench.”

“I still cannot have you,” she coldly accepted the final consequences of her actions.

“What would you have of me?” he shrieked as she began walking towards the docks. “You wish to drain me when I least expect it, become a servant of that maggot as well?”

“I am not his servant!” she screamed back at him.

“Damn you Lak'shmi! DAMN YOU!”

“Damn you, Corwyn! Damn you for dying and leaving me!”

She ran through the city, tearfully buying a ticket to Selgaunt from the Dockmaster. As she turned towards the dock, a man stepped from the shadows, shoving a note in her hand. She looked to it, as he disappeared. It was a gentle reminder from Lady Vhammos, for her not to abandon her task. She angrily tucked away her ticket, sullenly returning to the Jolly Warrior. Oh how she wished to slay everyone inside, but instead trudged to her room and bathed.

Lady Vhammos briefly visited, reminding her of her loyalties, making her swear to kill Corwyn if he was responsible for the Sharran deaths. She lied in the affirmative, and watched the Lady leave. Lak’shmi slay Corwyn? She nearly laughed at the absurdity. Too frustrated to sleep, she left her room with every intention to get stupid-drunk before leaving Westgate. Sitting in the same seat as the day before, was a slender figure with pale-blue hair.

“Gods, you plague me,” she spoke abrubtly. Turning to the tender, trying to hide her trembling chin, she begged for a drink. After spilling a few coins on the counter, she returned to her room, leaving the door open should Corwyn wish to follow. He did, and stepped inside, looking about.

“Have a seat, get comfortable,” she dully spoke to him, “yell some more.” He commented on the bath in a neutral voice while she sat on the bed, draining her wine, preparing for another screaming match. “Why, Corwyn? You drove me away with curses.”

He remained silent a while, turning around slowly before settling to sit before the fire. She warily watched him, and finally he spoke. “You said,” he began, “You said you had a hunger, before you ever met me, yes?” She closed her eyes, nodding. “Tell me, please?” He was so quiet, almost contrite as she relayed the entire origin of her thirst. He slowly understood, accepted. “You drank blood for sport then, not need. Before Karadane turned it into hunger.”

“Yes,” she quietly confessed. “Even now, it does not satisfy.”

“Then what does?” sorrow filled his eyes as he stepped closer. “What satisfies you, Lak'shmi? What drove you to give yourself to... the one who separated us?”

“Despair. Hate. Revenge.” He shook his head, trying to understand. She continued. “I despaired at your death. I hated everyone and everything. Shadowdale most of all. Yes, Shadowdale, and He would not let me die.” He turned away slowly, looking at his hands as she continued. “And yet, here you are. But I still cannot enjoy you.” He looked to her, confused. “Laugh. Live. Love.” He echoed her last word as she moved off the bed, standing before the fire. “You are too angry with me. So why, Corwyn? Why are you here? What other deep secrets do you wish to know? And scream about? When I hold out my arms, you recoil in disgust.”

“I am here,” he began dogmatically, “because I came back from the dead for you. Because I betrayed everything I had believed in for you. I came back, to rescue you from the clutches of the vampire, even if it meant my death again. Only to find that you have willingly given yourself to the very one... and even before, you had acted like one! You ask me why I recoil?” She asked again why he was in her room. “I am the one that must ask now. What do you want? What is it that you seek? What is it that will satisfy you?”

She lay down on the rug before the fire, more whipped dog than the fierce hunter she once was. “I just want to be happy, secure. Live where I do not have to hide my head all the time.”

“And what am I, to you? Food? A toy? a diversion?”

“You were my Love,” she whispered through the new tears. “One I would do anything to be free with. But it was not enough, for you left me anyway.”

“Left you? By dying...” he suddenly realised, and tried to remedy it. “I am here now. I have come back.”

“Yes,” she whispered, correcting him. “But you recoil from me. Scream. Curse.” He agreed, trying to put it in the past. “I want you, Corwyn, I do. I still love you.”

“Do you think I do not love you?” His own voice came in a choked whisper.

“I think you do,” she answered, ever word hurting as she spoke it. “But are too disgusted and angry with me as well.” Her body shook with her poorly suppressed sobs. “I love you, are you too thick to see it? My heart died with you! It seems to live again, until you start screaming. ”

“If you love me,” he pled, “stay by my side.” They continued, until once again he broached the subject of deities. She demanded to know his problem with Shar, he could not answer. He again brought up Karadane, and the last of her frustration spilled over.

“I wanted to be with you, so I went with you to Shadowdale. To try to live there. Not because I liked it, but because you wanted it! Karadane caught me, bent me to serve or die. I chose to serve, with the faintest hope that we would leave Shadowdale together! Then,” the tears poured out as she shouted through the tightness in her throat. “then all my reason for being, all my hopes and dreams DIED! I could not die with them! I HATED THAT TOWN! MORE THAN I HATED KARADANE!” He stammered about the town and his friends, still reeling from the news. “I hated them! They gave you hope that we could live there, took it away and rejected you! Then they did not bring you back!”

“Then you should hate me, too. I gave you hope; then I died. You should hate me the most then.”

“You give it now!” she continued. “Only to take it away when you start screaming again!”

“What hope, Lak'shmi?” his almost endless spring of hope dried, leaving the bitter dust of failure in his mouth. “What hope?”

“That you and I can be happy together!” He held her by the shoulders again, searching her eyes for the lie that was not there. “Corwyn, I am tired. Can we resume fighting tomorrow?”

“Lak’shmi,” he began, then resigned. “Very well. I... I want to believe you.” He sighed as she did. “I have payed too high a cost to back out. I cannot but risk trusting you.”

“You do not know the torments I have dealt with,” she began, but stopped. Tomorrow, they will fight more tomorrow. She turned away to climb under the blanket. “Corwyn, would you...? Could you lie beside me? Just, lie there. Please?”

“Oh Lak'shmi,” he looked upon her with tender eyes, slipping under the blankets. “I will not hurt you, ever.”

***************************************************************

[XVIII] Descent


“Thank you Corwyn, for coming back,” Lak’shmi mumbled into his shoulder as she fell asleep.

“I could not stay away,” he whispered as he smoothed her hair, watching her fall asleep. All through the night she remained in his arms. Near morning, she began stirring and growling in her sleep. “ I am so sorry, Lak'shmi. I left you alone,” he barely whispered. She bared her teeth and hissed, before growling and settling in his arms again. He stared at her as she slowly awakened, lifting sleepy eyes to smile at his cold blue pair. “You slept well?” he asked. She nodded, then he asked after her dream.

“I do not think you would want to know,” she whispered, curling in upon herself, “unless you wish to yell at me again.” Here we go again, so soon.

“I can venture a guess what it was about,” he sneered at her, features twisted in disgust. “I do not think you were dreaming of me.”

“Thank you,” she spoke quietly, sincerely, praying he would hear her true voice, “for lying beside me.” He remained silent, examining his blade. Sadly, she continued, ready for the fighting. “What do you wish of me, Corwyn?”

“Why do you care what I wish? You love me, you say, but you dream of--,” his face contorted into a pale blue grimace of loathing.

“If you do not know,” she answered, the sorrow nearly choking, “if you truly cannot fathom why I want to know your wishes, then tell me this: why are you here now? why did you lie with me?”

“I want to believe you Lak'shmi,” he answered, his voice still icy cold. “I want to believe you still love me. But you are not the person I left when we were in Shadowdale. I am not sure who or what you are. Are you the same Lak'shmi that I came back for? Look at us. Look at us, Lak’shmi!”

“I am, Corwyn,” I see better than you! “I do not know your expectations, and you will not tell me. You have them, I know you do. But you will not tell me. I am no mind reader. I cannot even cast spells, but I am just supposed to know what you want of me?”

He tore his gaze from his sword to regard her with his icy stare. “I see now what is left. The only path. You wish to know what I want from you now?” She answered, trying to contain her own pain. “Stand by me. You enjoy killing. Drinking blood. Very well. We will kill together, you will have much blood to drink. All you want.” his brow furrowed as he growled, “That is what I 'expect' from you.”

Tears again threatened to spill, but she suppressed them, trying to fathom his wishes. “What do you WISH? what do you WISH of me?”

“Wish?” he snorted, his laughter chilling her skin. “Wish?!? Do you not understand? There is no wish! You and I, we must kill now. Kill, together or separately, may as well kill together, no?”

“May as well?” disbelief mingled with the pain. “May as well? No love? No desire? Why bother?” She turned to pack her belongings, hiding the tears that threatened to flow again.

“Desire?” he spat back at her, his voice, and yet not his voice. “You want desire?” He spun her around, ripping her dress down to her waist and leering, “I desire you alright!” He pushed himself towards her, she watched as her own body became cold and numb.

“Something wrong, love?” he cruelly laughed, pushing her onto the bed. “You wanted desire, here it is!”

She answered, her voice devoid of all emotion as she lay on the bed, “You are behaving not with desire, but hate, or pretending to lust.”

“I am not pretending,” he growled, roughly fondling her. “I lust, yes! You want this! You enjoy this, admit it! Lak'shmi, The Dark Temptress, Mistress of males who desire her! Lust for her! Lak'shmi, who lusts herself! For Death! Blood! Sex! And now, Corwyn!”

She watched him perform the abhorrent to her, his grim visage grunting and leering and mocking her while his voice from the night before echoed in her mind, I will never hurt you, Lak’shmi. Never. He finished and lay next to her. She remained still for several moments, her black heart dissolving in the void that was love. Her goddess spoke to her again, but she allowed the numb to permeate her mind, too. She quietly rose and bathed, Corwyn’s cold laugh following her.

“Finishing so soon?” he mocked her. “I am rather disappointed, Lak'shmi. I thought your appetite would be greater than this. It was the last time we were together.” She finished the mechanical cleaning and dressed, avoiding his eyes. “No words? Nothing to say? Well, I have something to say. I,” he suddenly closed his mouth, watching her ghostly form as she pulled on her boots and gloves. “Where are you going?”

“What do you care?” she croaked.

“What is your problem?” he spat, watching her check her weapons. “Did you not enjoy yourself?”

“When you can decide who you are, then, and only then, will we speak.” She turned to leave as he commanded her to stop, asking where she was going. “Perhaps you have forgotten. I have no masters anymore. I go where I please. You, of all people, know not to order me about.” She left the room to his curses. Downstairs, she ordered a small meal, eating slowly and methodically as Corwyn made much noise in the room above. She thought about disappearing, but returned to the room. The carpet was soaked form the overturned bath, all other furniture broken and strewn about.

“Feel better?” she cooly questioned. He merely looked to her with dull eyes. “Who are you?”

“A Fool,” he huffed. “An idiot. I am a killer, and a fool who once dreamed the dream of an idiot!”

“Then why are you still in my room?” Why am I still here? “Do you need me for some other purpose, besides the occasional hate-bedding?”

“Once,” he began, his face softening into the Corwyn she knew. “I thought I did. You are a fool too, you realize. Even greater a fool than I! You believed the dream of a fool.”

“Yes. I know. I have always known that I am foolish.” She spoke the words she thought he knew, anguish slithering into her voice as her heart finished dying. “And it hurt. I knew it would hurt, but I tried anyway. I wanted to believe you, Corwyn.”

“Why? Why Lak'shmi? why believe it?” As she opened her mouth to repeat the words a thousandth time, he continued, “How do you do it? How? How do you continue to live? I have only been returned from death a short while; and only killed a few. But I... but elves do not adapt quickly.”

“Corwyn,” she sighed, explaining with no hope of him understanding. “I was born into what you are only now experiencing. A child's mind is easy to mold. Right or wrong. Good or evil. None of it matters. Only the master's will, with ever the knowledge that you are expendable property.” They both sighed heavily, his face softening to her. He apologised for hurting her, swearing again to never hurt her.

They talked lightly of their obstacles, Lak’shmi stalling until dawn. When the accursed sun rose, she gave him the key to her room, and walked away. Her dead black heart too heavy to desire seeing him ever again. She sailed to Selgaunt, cloaked in shadows and refusing to speak. Even in this evil little vortex, she had to behave, be good, not kill and risk capture. All her protectors dead, the hateful shadow easily slipped through the city. Even the road to Shadowdale was free of menace. None disturbed her loathsome trek, none interrupted her Goddess’ whispers, preparing Lak’shmi for eternal damnation.

Malevelolent happiness thrilled her senses while she prowled the wilds of Shadowdale. Near the town she spied one who forgot her. Traveling alone with a horse, Lak’shmi stalked. Shadows cloaked her until she loosed her first silvered arrow, then the rothe ran. She gave chase, and nearly lost the trail when she found the rothe again, blathering to the coster about drow on the roads. Lak’shmi stalked, and loosed another arrow. It ran surprisingly fast, eventually escaping Lak’shmi’s arrows as she ran through the gates of Ashabenford. Snarling, Lak’shmi returned to the road, headed for an area north of Shadowdale Village.

Cloaked in Shar’s grace, Her wishes whispered in Lak’shmi’s ear, she slipped through the bright woods to see Karadane, waiting. Playing the only game she knew well, she showed him the passion he craved. False love borne of hate, but passion nonetheless. She settled in his lap, purring, her Goddess whispering: Hurt Him.

“I hear your heart beating,” he crooned to her. “It speaks to me.” he smiled as he held his ear to her chest.

“What does it say?” she playfully asked.

“It says you have worked hard today. That you are excited,” he sniffed, fangs glinting as he smiled wide. “And you smell of sweat, from running, I assume. You also smell of desire. And you smell of blood, yours and others.”

“Not enough of the other's,” she breathed into his ear. “I frightened a rothe, but did not slaughter it.”

“Will you remain in the sun for a while longer then, until you have this rothe?” he asked, seemingly a little disappointed.

“I would love to slaughter it,” she breathed in his ear again, then nipped. “but I also long to never see the sun again. If that gift is still offered.” He pulled away to look into her eyes.

“When have I ever refused to reward as promised, when you have done well?” She waited for him to grant or deny her request. “I have but one remaining thing I require. And you should know what that is without me telling you again.” He stopped, looking deep into her eyes to divine if she still knew. “Do you remember what that is? The one thing I desire most?”

“You want my passion,” she barely whispered, speaking the deathvows that would damn her in hatred forever, “which I have freely given before, and would happily do so again. I want to remain by you.” She bit into his collarbone to emphasize her hated desire, he stopped his lecture on passion to enjoy her teeth.

“You are a Shadow,” he hissed, “but soon you will be a Midnight Bloom. Filled with the sweet smell of passion for the eternal night in which we will live and rule. You wish your reward now?”

“Yes,” she begged, “please yes!”

“You must die for this and will sleep in death's arms for a few cycles. But you will rise when you are ready to be reborn. You must not draw from me. I must feast, fully upon you.” She stretched her neck before his nose, willing him to shut up and drink. He fell upon her neck, drawing until she felt too weak to push into him, then let up to whisper, “I will be waiting when you stir.”

“Bel'la dos, Seriso,” her voice a bare whisper as her Goddess crooned triumphant in her ear. He returned to her wound, draining her completely, then kissed her cold lips. “I will be waiting, my Love. When you awake, I will feed you again.” He chanted, gestured in his strange way to make her body float above the ground. He stood, smoothed his robes, then held her in tight embrace. They vanished together, teleporting Lak’shmi to her death womb, awaiting rebirth.

*****************************************************************

[XIX] Afterlife

Lak’shmi’s drifted through the Void. Mirroring the Karadane’s physical embrace, Shar wrapped her soul in loving warmth. No pain, no suffering, no light, the bliss of the Void comforted her. Perfection. Slowly, a pain crept in, marring her complete joy. She tried to ignore it, but it grew insistent, pulling at her attention until she could no longer pretend it did not exist. She turned to her Goddess to question the intrusion. Shar kissed her goodbye, mother to daughter, then cast her from the Void.

She woke, lying still and listening to her surroundings as she always did. She was cold, but did not shiver. She felt a great weight upon her, but did not suffocate. Lilac eyes opened to total darkness, grainy and dirty, but it did not hurt. Hungry, so hungry. She clawed through the weight, more grainy, gritty obstructions to freedom. Her hands reached the dank air first, then her head, she pulled herself from the earthen womb of death. She shook her luminous mane free of dirt, then glared into the darkness, searching for food. She could see better than before, but nothing stirred.

Sniff. She tested the dank air, a feral grin spreading across her dark face. Two points of pressure on her lower lip distracted her a second, but she pushed it away. Food, she could smell it. She started to run, but fell over. Frustrated, she pulled herself up and started, only to fall again. Her muscles felt too taut, as if her energy built up while she died. She moved much faster than before. She pulled herself up again and stalked, still surprised at how fast she closed in. An elf! She nearly giggled, but her hunger screamed. She closed in and drained the elf before it protested. The exsanguinated body fell from her hands as a satisfied sigh escaped her lips. Sweet, sweet liquid life, she felt warm again. Looking down at the elf, the wound in the neck was no longer the jagged double-crescent she usually inflicted, but two points. Fingertips to now sharp canines, her laugh echoed through the caverns.

Karadane’s Night Bloom, the halfdrow hunter turned vampire had risen. He stepped in to look upon her, a fond smile spread across his face. Again, she showed him the passion he craved. After, he showed her their home, miles below Shadowdale. He counseled her not to go to the surface, for there were plenty to hunt from the drow village a mile above. She dutifully obeyed, exploring her new playground. For a time.

The drow were great sport to hunt, but killing and feeding off them did not further her Goddess’ aims, nor did it satisfy Lak’shmi’s hunger or proclivities towards mayhem. She grew curious about Alaelsar, JenWa, Gilim. A few times would she sneak to the surface, only to be reprimanded for her impatience when she returned. He wished to wait years, wait for them all to forget or die before returning to His goals.

Yet she had grown fond of her freedom in the forests, the wild night air, the taste of surface elves. During one of her outings, she tripped over an old love, Gabriel. He yet lived, better still, he returned for her. Though pleased to see her again, he was saddened that she did not wait for him. He asked after her, and she pretended she was indeed happy. They knew it for a lie, and quietly ignored it.

Again, she returned to her home to be reprimanded for enjoying the surface night. She chafed under the restrictions, obeyed for a time while nursing her hate. He tried to sate her desires, guide her will to his, but they were poor substitutes to what she truly wished. He talked to her of inciting a slave rebellion for entertainment. She thrilled to the task, but soon grew despondent. The live ones were all halfdrow, their total lack of spirit disgusting her. These were her kind, rarer than Eilistraeens in Daggerdale, but boring and completely lacking will of their own. Better to die at birth than this existence.

She continued the lies, waiting to escape to the surface one last time. She entertained the notion to beg for death, for her unlife grew tiresome. Gathering her belongings for her final retreat, she left for the glorious night of the surface. Disguised as a bat, she flew through the village to find Gilim, requesting he gather the other two and meet her at Elf Leap. The meeting went poorly, their derision inciting enough hate that she did not beg to die, but not so much she would slay them. She gave them a lock of hair, begging them to give it to Corwyn with an apology.

She disappeared in the faint morning predawn to hide in a cave; her only comfort that no one could find her if she did not wish it. She pulled shadows and earth about her while she rested.

So different, yet still the same.

I still run.


***************************************************************

[XX] Without Malice

Gone. With a cold farewell kiss to Lak’shmi’s cold grey hand, Gabriel left again for lands she could not travel. Again he said he would return. How long must she wait? Could she wait? She watched him march away in the pale moonlight, half hoping the giant wolf of the Sembian forest would come for a taste of the halfbreed again. This time she would not object.

Before the sun broke over the horizon, she returned to her priestess’ tomb, despair mingling with the shadows that cloaked her. Nothing lasts, Lak’shmi. She looked around the tomb, but no great shadow floated near. Nothing. She tried to remember joy. Stealing the child in Cormyr, dancing with Gabriel, sharing a dinner of elf under the moon no longer brought a smile to her dark lips. Blood nourished, but did not satisfy. What does satisfy you, Lak’shmi? She lay down beside the dark sarcophagus, her mind trying to answer the pale elf’s anguished question from long ago.

When was it, that Corwyn had hurt her? A year ago? Two? Three? He had promised he never would hurt her, then did so only hours later. She would have been anything for him, but he could not say what he wanted from her. Maybe he did not know. Was it really all his fault? Perhaps her fault, too. She turned into the cold dead creature to show Corwyn she was no slave to the vampire archmage, but his downfall. Yet she failed, chafing under His instructions, His plans, His desires. Confinement and her natural impatience led her to flee Karadane. Flee, and fail. Unlife became a twisted mirror of her life: running, hiding, feeding, hiding. She fed only once every ten days, just enough to continue existence. She could drink from all the elves she wished in Selgaunt, no one noticed, no one cared. Tedium.

Lak’shmi waited for Gabriel a year, but he did not return. The end of the second year saw her placing the last intricate trap on the last strange lock in the darkest hall. Deep within the stone structure, for the clever sibling in faith, lay worldly possessions too meaningful to sell in the market: protective rings and amulets, magic boots and cloak, and Barra Tsoss, a gift from the Darklady of Westgate herself. She silently gave Gabriel six months more.

The wind rushed through her hair the night of the last day of the sixth month since her silent ultimatum, blood tears falling from lilac eyes. Despair continued to surround her, the pain of unlife driving her to old enemies. She traveled unprotected in Shadowdale, daring anyone to scry for her, anyone to find her. Elminster himself could take her, but she cared not. She had a few choice words for him anyhow, concerning the balors in his basement. Death was better than what they did to her, and it was all Karadane’s fault. Hate twisted her mouth into a sneer as she moved towards the village, to a house in the northeast corner, where long ago she placed a letter on the doorstep.

The plants outside the paladin’s house had been untended for some time. The vision through the windows of a home barely tended. Sorrow hung think about the home before Lak’shmi added to it. She watched the front door, waiting to speak to her. She almost smiled, realizing she only knew the paladin’s name but not her face. Dawn found her hiding in a cave, waiting until dusk to resume her vigil.

Four nights later, the paladin stepped from her front door, sorrow etched deeply in her fair face. The gossip of the town informed her of Nicha’s pain, her mate dead and buried the only talk on the wind. Lak’shmi took one step closer, then stopped as Nicha stiffened, hand going to her sword as she peered in the darkness. How did she know? Lilac eyes scrutinised the sword, frustrated hiss escaping her lips. So much for secrecy, the thing was enchanted to react to undead. Lak’shmi shifted into a bat, slowly approaching Nicha.

“I see you,” she scowled at the bat, hovering unnaturally at the edge of the shadows.

Lak’shmi shifted back, taking another tentative step forward. “I want you to,” she softly spoke.

“I thought as much,” Nicha’s eyes looked over her form, committing to memory details of her appearance so few knew.

“I do not want to fight you, Nicha.”

One graceful brown brow arched. “What are you doing back in Shadowdale then?”

“Final,” she breathed deep of unneeded air, “wishes. May we speak peacably, or does your creed prevent it?”

“You may speak,” still studying the vampire before her, knuckles white on her sword. “I will listen.”

“I do not wish you harm, or anything resembling it,” Lak’shmi began, the corner of her mouth twisting into a half smile, one fang glinting in the moonlight. “I want you to live long, and strong in your faith.” Nicha’s disbelief pulled a fuller smile from Lak’shmi. “Please, if you can, do not let JenWa come to harm.”

“I have no intention of allowing any such thing. Why?”

“I hear the way they talk of her,” she explained. The rumors that JenWa was responsible for Lak’shmi’s terrors no longer amused. “She really is as blameless as possible. It is all a mess,” lilac eyes lowered as she shook her head.

“Yes, it is, isn't it.” Not a question.

“I,” she began, taking another unneeded breath of night air. “I do not care if you believe me or not. I am sorry. I failed.” She turned to leave, but Nicha’s question stopped her. She turned back with pained eyes, “I tried. I know His plans.”

“Somehow I am not surprised,” a sneer marred the paladin’s features.

“I hate him, Nicha,” despair took the strength from her words, but she had to let someone know. Just one person, even if she thought her lying. “I only dared what no other could. But I failed, and will die. Again.”

“One way or another, yes,” she nodded with satisfaction. “He will get you or someone else will.”

“He wants,” pain coursed through her body at the pending betrayal, “he wants to break you and all your order!”

“I know,” she frowned again, studying Lak’shmi. “He told me.”

“Take care of yourself, Nicha,” she straightened, smoothing her robes. All for naught, the paladin already knew. So much for helping her do what she could not. “Do not let your god die.”

“I do not intend to,” her features softened, her grip on the sword relaxing some as Lak’shmi apologized again. “You had little choice, in the beginning. But I am not the one you should be apologizing to.”

“No one else will listen, but it matters not,” she answered. Did she mean JenWa? Jen’s hate-filled voice made Lak’shmi enjoy bringing death, her hate incited bitter desires to see the once kind human dead and broken. Gilim? Gilim’s torment comforted her. Corwyn? The elf was destroyed, pulled from his gods and as hateful as she, when last she left him. “Nothing matters,” she whispered.

“What will you do now?” Nicha quietly asked. Probably to give the riot a direction to hunt.

“Find a way to die, that pleases me. I do not like this existence anymore than my last one.”

“That I can understand,” she softly answered.

“I lost my love,” the paladin did not know of Gabriel, and did not need to. Though he left, he still lived, Lak’shmi would not bring him more grief. “There is nothing for me. Not even revenge, now.”

“That too, do I understand,” her voice dropped Empathy, from this paladin of Kelemvor? Did she truly understand? The notion, regardless of the truth in it, brought a red tear to fall down her cheek. “Leave Shadowdale, and find your way.”

“My way is death, but I am too weak to do it myself.”

“You will not likely find a merciful death. If you decide you want one, come back.”

“You would do it?” her desire only a choked whisper. “Without malice?”

“Without malice,” Nicha softly repeated. “I offered to Corwyn, when you first came to Shadowdale. If what you wanted was death, I would see it was clean.”

“Where?”

Nicha looked around her home, down the street, into the trees then pat the sword at her hip. “It matters not, really. One blow is all I need. Clean, and quick.”

“She did not go to Westgate, did she? She did not tell him,” the moonlight glistened on the unbroken lines of dark red tears falling from her eyes. A thousand entreaties formed, but never passed her lips. He will never know. No one would believe the halfbreed vampire. Oh gods above and below, I am so sorry.

“I do not think she went, no,” she shook her head, almost pitying the wretched creature before her.

“Now. Please!” she begged in pained whisper, her soul screaming in remorse.

“Are you sure?”

“Do it now.”

“As you wish.”

“Thank you, Nicha,” she whispered as she knelt before the Paladin, yearning for her own pain of living to end.

“You are welcome, Lak'shmi,” she silently drew her weapon, raising it high in the moonlight. "Go back to your goddess. Find peace. Are you ready?” The paladin held true to her word, compassion thick in her voice. Without malice.

“Yes,” she remained still, a silent name on her lips as her head rolled from her body. Shadows darkened as Lak’shmi’s body fell into dust, her soul at peace.

[Burt]

Always liked the Lak stuff. Wish I had enough ink to print this out, cause I'm not reading a small novel at my screen.

[Mizbiz]

So wanted to kill her....so very very much.

[Zer00]

My my...

The memories of those stories, will always miss that little jinx



Great stuff Misty